Man vs Fish

Since becoming a mother I have developed super human tendencies which surpass all levels of brilliance and splendidness I commanded before Boo appeared. 

I hate fish. They're slimy. They're slippy. They smell.

They make up rumours about you and try to steal your dinner money. 

(That is not me making rumours up about them by the way; it's actual fact.)

But. In light of my new found nerves of steel I decided (alright - I had to cause Dave forgot) to FILLET A PIECE OF FISH FOR MY DAUGHTER. Uh-huh. That's right. Little old me vs a massive, slippy, slimy, stinking cod. Bleurgh.

We lined up for the weigh in. 

The silvery Cod registered at a small but mightily smelly 150g. 

I tipped the scales at a nervous but determined 3,000,007g. 

Press reports of the plucky underdog set to face the grisly gill-toting destroyer abound - but I drowned out all the frenzied media attention with complete concentration on my torturous training regime. Nothing would disturb my focus. 

With Rocky music blaring tinnily from our kitchen radio (it's not DAB), I pushed my training to the absolute limit. From sniffing a frozen fish finger, to gargling caviar; from stroking a goldfish to snogging a stingray - you name it, I've physically and mentally prepared every fibre of my being for any underhand tactic that arrogant aquatic scoundrel might splash at me.

Then. It was upon me. My daughter needed feeding. It was fillet time. 

I went in hard - small, newly sharpened knife from the wood block thingy straight into the white stuff. THUMP! Shuffling the blade about in the body, I located a long bone. I gouged underneath it and began to heave it up. But suddenly THWACK! A blow to the nose as a painfully fishy fragrance hit my nasal cavity. I pressed on wrestling doggedly with the tiny bone I had rooted out. POW! 

Splattering fish guts all over the kitchen worktop, out came the spine. Then CRUNCH! Ooooo! A low blow from the cod as it flipped over to reveal it slimy silvery skin. I staggered back, reeling from the impact of such a stomach churning sight. But composing myself, I swiftly hit back. BANG! A right hook with the knife floored the vicious vertebrate once again. Tugging heroically at the slippy skin, I began to panic. Oh God!! No purchase!! CRACK! He swiped at me again with another gust of ghastly odour. I heaved. A dizzying nausea rippled my ailing core. It was slipping away from me. I was on the ropes. Then I realised what was needed. Time to get down and dirty.
I lurched in fearlessly, bare handed, and tore, scratched and ripped the Codfather fin from fin. KA-POW!! BAP!! OOF!! SMASH!!
The FISH HAD BEEN FILLETED.

The spineless, gutless, scaleless wonder lay defeated on the cold granite work top.  The crowd went wild. Hoisted aloft by the jubilant throng, I sailed through waves of confetti, cheers and chants. 'Another One Bites The Dust' blared deafeningly from a loudspeaker, accompanied by a sea of foam (fish) fingers waving in my heroic honour.
I am a champion. Brave beyond brave. A valiant, daring, admirably plucky little lady who fought the odds to satisfy this...

She has turned me into a warrior.
VENI, FILLETI, VICI.

I FILLETED A FISH.