About once every month or so, Mumma and I make our way into Wickham Terrace in the City for an appointment for my skin and as luck would have it, today just happened to be that day of the month.

Like always, we arrived a little early so that we could have lunch at the cute little cafe downstairs before we needed to be up at my appointment and like always, I ordered chicken and salad. Chicken, lettuce, carrot, tomato, beetroot and cucumber to be exact; no pepper thanks and no salt, I have my own.

Yes, I carry my own salt around with me, Himalayan Rock Salt to be exact and yes, when I pull a random salt shaker out of my handbag in the middle of a cafe or a restaurant, more often than not people do tend to laugh. I think I’ve become accustomed to the giggles and the stares by now though, probably because I’ve been taking it with me everywhere I go for the past year. It’s like my mobile or my purse, I almost feel lost if I ever leave the house without it. Sad really, I know, but before you judge you should probably try it for yourself, I promise you that you won’t be disappointed.

Now, given the amount of times that I eat chicken and salad in any given week, I have come to know the exact taste of everything on my plate. On this particular day though, upon receiving my beautiful plate of salad, I noticed that the chicken tasted a little funny. It was still a meat-like flavour, but it seemed to have a little bit of a fishy taste to it and as much as I hate to say it, a bit of a fishy smell too.

I couldn’t quite work it out at first, but after a few mouthfulls I finally put my finger on what it was; the chicken on my plate was definately not chicken. Obviously, the girl working in the salad section had zero common sense, as it appears she must have used the same tongs for my chicken as she had for the tuna, casually leaving a few pieces of tuna on my plate in the process. However, considering I cannot stand the smell of tuna let alone the taste, she had just officially ruined my lunch.

After spitting out my most recent mouthful, I of course returned my half eaten plate of salad and waited for a fresh one to be made. Sure enough, almost as quickly as I had returned it, a new plate of meat and salad appeared on the table in front of me.

Now, I say meat and salad and not chicken and salad, because despite asking for a fresh plate to be made, the second plate had exactly the same problem. So much so, that I was starting to think perhaps they were just playing tricks on me.

Either the girl behind the counter really had no common sense after all and had done exactly the same thing she had the first time that she put the meat out or the chicken that they were selling was a hybrid; half chicken and half tuna, because that was definately not any kind of chicken that I had ever eaten before.

Either way though, considering it would have been the second time that I had complained, I decided it would be rude to send it back again. As well as that, they had just officially put me off both chicken and tuna for quite some time. So instead of complaining, I left my plate on the table, politely said thank you and walked away still hungry, compliments of the lovely lady who decided to ruin my day.

Let’s just say that next month, I won’t be ordering their hybrid chicken.

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