Life and death in my kitchen sink.

I cried the last time I walked in on my mom while she was killing crabs for our dinner. No, I'm not some squeamish vegan, but I admit I'm waaay more comfortable cooking dead animals. Delusional, I know. I wish I could be one of those gung-ho farm chicks who raise and slaughter their dinner but no, I definitely have a long way to go before I can, if ever, embrace the whole farm to table lifestyle.

The womenfolk in my house have never cooked with frozen crabs and after I mentioned that I had to test a crab recipe for work, I returned home today to find a pail of live crabs waiting for me. Thankfully, my dad was on standby and all I had to do was to nod my head.

I felt like an executioner, and my heart broke a little when I peered over his shoulder and saw the twitching pincers. It's ironic really, as I am technically fueling the slaughterers each time I bite into a piece of fish or meat. My aunt's convinced that this streak of compassion may just lead me to become a vegetarian one day. Maybe. But for now, I'm gonna be sticking to supermarket meats, and crossing my fingers that there won't be another crab recipe to test. Loser.