Dear Ocean Dwelling Parasites

Dear Ocean Dwelling Parasites,

Yeah! That's right! I'm talking to you. Once upon a fairytale, we used to work well together. All those Friday nights, surrounded by fish and chips and stuffed quahaugs. I loved spending my lunches with you and your amazing tuna salads. They were good times, before you betrayed me.

Do you remember when we spent every Mother's Day enjoying Thai calamari and swordfish at Legal Seafood? It was our tradition. Then, as the warmer weather rolled around, we enjoyed New England Clam Chowder and clam cakes at Skip's Dock as we watched the waves crashing on the shore.

After all of those great memories, you destroyed our relationship! You became toxic as you followed me throughout my days, showing up to lunches and dinners, unwanted. Don't get me started on Lobster Fest, a summer tradition at the beach house.

There is plenty of laughter and conversation as the fresh lobsters wade into their water bath. Side dishes are cooked, and the steaks are thrown on the grill. The red lobsters take center stage on the picnic table, as I shudder in the corner, waiting for my food to arrive. We gather round and bless the meal before we sit and grab our food.

While everyone enjoys their chosen lobster, I guard my plate from flying claws and lobster meat that sails across the table. I can't take a chance that you'll land in the middle of my rib-eye steak and potato wedges. As I eat, fears of your wrath linger in the recesses of my mind, wondering if you'll attack me as I relax watching the sun set.

I know, you think you rule the ocean, but I am through with you and the chaos you wreak on my body. How many times do you think can hide in my food and make my eyes puffy or my breathing labored?

You and your little fish oils, sneaking into taco seasonings and Worcestershire sauce when I least expect it. Oh! All the labels that I must read, to keep you at arm's length. Do you realize the havoc you cause? Do you? Probably not. Why would you care? While you're enjoying your existence, swimming in the vast ocean and riding the currents, I fret for days, waiting for my face to look normal again after one of your sneak attacks.

How many Caesar salads do I have to ignore because you whip in a few unsuspecting anchovies into that creamy dressing? Oh, I'm sure they taste good to those that you don't harass, but you'd rather torment me with swollen lips and a lopsided face. How much longer until you attack my breathing?

I bet you think this is funny. Playing games with your nasty chemicals. Your stealth is too much for one person to bear alone.

You recently appeared at one of our local restaurants, where you took over the fryer. I've eaten there for years without consequence, but you had to disrupt my evening out. Why? Why did you need to send the shrimp to be fried there? What's wrong with baked stuffed or pan-fried shrimp? No! You needed to bread them and add them to the oil, destroying my ability to eat my favorite Tennessee fried chicken sandwich as the chef designed it. You don't play fair.

Do you realize grilled chicken isn't the same as a delicious, juicy fried cutlet? It totally ruined the vibe!

It's bad enough that you're stealthy and silent, but you continue to mock me every time I walk down the buffet line, with a dish in my hand. I walk past all of the dangerous foods and pray that what I can eat remains safe. The last time, you cross-contaminated my plate with flaky salmon. What were you thinking when you used the same spoon to plate the roast beef and the salmon?

Thankfully, the little pink flake stared up at me and warned me not to enjoy the roast in my dish. Disgruntled, I headed back to the buffet and started again. After I had a clean plate in my hand, I ensured you stayed away from me and didn't embarrass me in front of a room full of coworkers. Chalk one win up for me! No swollen lips that night!

So, creepy-crawly critters, swimmers of the sea, shellfish, and those with claws, I'm quitting you for good. That's right! I quit!

You can take your little flaky white tale down the road and bother someone else. As for us, we are through. I quit. I am done. I won't be back! Here and now, I resign from doing life with you! Effectively immediately. No, two-week notice. This is too important.

I mean it. Don't show up again, or I'll use my EPI-PEN on you!

Sincerely disgruntled,

KA Stefana

P.S. Tell those stinking bananas and melons to stay out of my kitchen, too. They are not welcome anymore. Who needs scratchy throats?

Author Note: I hope that you enjoyed my silly take on a serious subject.

Total word count for story: 825