Traumatised

Thats right dear readers, as above. I am traumatised.

I have spent the last 15 minutes doing something I would have to say is the most disgusting and unnecessary thing that I have every had to do. So disgusting that I am this close to declaring myself vegetarian and joining a hippie commune in far north Queensland.

I guess I should start from the beginning.

My beloved other half, in all his divine wisdom and incredible intelligence, bought himself a frozen chicken to stuff and roast. Now the man of my life is a relatively good cook (when he feels like it that is), and for him the joy and challenge of making stuffing and shoving it up a chickens arse is quite satisfying. Not so much for me...

Now love of my life took this chicken out of the freezer to defrost on Sunday, as he had grand ambitions to create his take on the traditional culinary masterpiece that is the Sunday Roast. This chicken has now sat in the fridge until today, which is wednesday, awaiting the attention and genius of my love. This, unfortunately, was not to be.

It started with an email. Honey, do you want to cook the roast? Well yes, I thought, I am a capable woman, I can breach corporations to court for large amounts of money, I can do 8 pushups on my toes, I can make several different variations of stir fry and a great red curry, OF COURSE I CAN ROAST A CHICKEN!!!!

Love of my life then emailed me a complicated recipe that involved apricots, breadcrumbs, onions, lemon rind..... oh and about 6000 other items that I have blocked from my mind through trauma.

I took one look and thought, hang on. I stick what where? He wants the apricots up.... there? APRICOTS UP WHERE??!!??

So, I begin. Cook the onion, heat the apricots, mix the stuffing. Easy. Sort of like a cake. So, full of confidence and smug pride in the fact that I can ROAST A CHICKEN, I take take the next step. I took the frozen chicken out of the plastic freezer bag.

Um can i say EW and YUCK. First of all, there was DEAD CHOOK BLOOD. pouring out of that disgusting carcass! And cold loose chicken skin. And then the worst bit, the chickens arse.

Now I tried really hard to spoon the stuff up it, keeping my hands as far from the dead chooks rear as I possibly could. However this is very time consuming, considering you have to hold it open and carefully press it into place. So, out of frustration and distress, I grabbed the gobfuls of apricot muck, and stuck my hands right up there too. It was the single most horrifying moment of my life ( i have an irrational fear of raw chicken). I was raping a dead chickens arse. If I was a chicken I would feel violated.

Dont get me wrong, I have roasted before. But to me a roast is a pre-prepared chicken roll that i bung in the oven with a couple of potatoes and some pumpkin. Not a whole chicken with horrible skin and a rear end that requires my attention.


Now I feel dirty. i feel like I need to cleanse my entire body, to scrub the feeling of raw chicken arse off my body. I am horrified. I think I am going to need counselling to recover from this horrifying ordeal. In fact, I am going to have a shower right now and take in the big scrubbing brush to scrup this off my skin.......

Toodles