Ick

It happened in Greece. There was a maggot in our greens! We had greens with lemons and M picked up a piece of lettuce and bam, there it was. Squiggling and inching its way off the smooth, white plate. How could you not see it? It was so clear you could see the insides. How frantic it swung its little head around – rising up on its little worm body less than a centimeter tall. Trying to find salvation – or a juicy piece of rotting flesh to breed in. We had already eaten the whole salad. We had probably digested some of his brothers.

When the waiter came back, I didn’t know how to explain that there was a maggot in the greens. I waved my hands around, I inched my finger along the table to mime a worm inching its way across our food. The waiter smiled and then he smiled wider. He shrugged his shoulders, looked around. He didn't understand. The word for maggot wasn’t in my Greek book and we had never covered it in class. In the midst of my explanation I pointed down to the plate – but the worm had disappeared. It was smart and was hiding underneath the few remaining pieces – I was sure of it! But the waiter, in a hurry, picked up the plate and disappeared in the kitchen. Our evidence was now gone. Maybe he really did understand? Maybe he was telling the other waiters as we waited, watching the waves churn and break against the cove?

They brought out the Calamari. They brought out the mussels. We ate in silence. They talked in the back. I could hear a few words but no one came out to apologize, and then I thought, maybe you don’t apologize in Greece. Maybe you just pretend it never happened.

And that’s exactly what we did.

(Shudder.)