My pet rock

Last night, Tiff and I decided to split a dish of snails at Eon, the neighbourhood Chinese restaurant. The whole exercise of digging snail meat out of the shell with a small wooden stick made the going slow, but I nevertheless found the dish quite tasty. But about 3/4 of the way through the dish, I noticed that one of the snails I had in my mouth was slightly different from the others. For starters, this little freak of nature lacked any opening for the wooden extraction utensil. With a bit more exploration, I noticed that its shell also had a noticeably different texture than the others. Finally, I took the snail out of my mouth and told Tiff that it tasted like a rock. Anyways, to make a long story short (and to save me from further embarrassment), let me just tell you that it really was a rock. In my defense, every single snail was coated in a thick layer of sauce to mask the inherent tastelessness of snails, and this rock, which was shaped deceptively like a snail, at first tasted no different than the other snails. It was an honest mistake. Seriously.

In any case, I washed off the rock in tea, and now I have a pet rock on my desk named Oscar.


Your Favorite Jerk