When simple things become complex.

The other day i visited a friend and we were sitting in the living-room chatting away and catching up, it had been a while since we had seen each other and there was a lot to talk about. It was approaching lunchtime so obviously one of the topics of discussion was what to chew and consequently swallow. And chicken came up!

I am not an adent lover of chicken, truth be told, i cant stand three consequtive meals with chicken in the mix, but honestly speaking i couldn't remember the last time i had eaten chicken so chicken it is! we settled for chicken. 

But this friend does not enjoy restaurant food and so restaurant chicken was obviously out of the question. The houseboy was called in from the kicthen and the friend issued instructions for him to buy a live chicken at the market and slaughter her. Sorry to use her but the houseboy came back with a hen and not a cock. 

So the chicken was brought. I have a feeling now that there was some kind of hidden anticipation for the chicken, knowing that it is there waiting to be slaughtered. But the worst part came when i went to the kitchen to make a snack composed of chicken sausages and bumped into poor hen. She was calmly seated on the floor as if sitting on eggs, probably not knowing the fate awaiting her, a sharp knife on the feathery neck.

She was covered with white feathers, i wonder why the houseboy picked a hen with white feathers, maybe if he had picked a hen with black feathers i wouldn't feel sorry for the poor thing. But alas! she was so calm unlike a cock that has a premonition that it is soon going to turn into broth. One glance at her and i went ooooh! but my sympathy was shortlived, interrupted by burning sausages.

There was an episode of selective amnesia becuase she-hen was forgotten for a while when the sausages turned into a delicious sandwich. And the chat resumed, maybe with hidden anticipation of the poor "snow white wannabe" in the kitchen.

I wish i was prepared enough for the next sight i was to meet when i took back the empty snack mini-utensils to the kitchen. She-hen was in the sauce pan legs up!

I stared expressionless lest the houseboy caught me staring agape and wonder what i was up to. I walked away with a broken heart, with the right ventricle saying poor hen and the right atrium saying why am i even feeling sorry for the ex white feathred, flightless bird.

Alas! when i thought back, the first time i saw her, she was sitting calmly as if on a throne, next thing i know she was in  a sauce-pan legs up with no feet!

I burst out laughing.

I was then welcomed by a perplexed, curious look and of course the most obvious explanation was that the houseboy had become funny! This prompted one question " what are you laughing at?" but i was reluctant to tell owing to the fact that i thought it would sound somewhat silly.

But eventually i did and the comment that followed was "i don't see the joke in that"....do you?