Paula Light is the lovely hostess for The Monday Peeve, where we get to complain our guts out to make ourselves feel better.

Saturday felt like one giant peeve waiting to be written.

First of all, mom’s friend, as mentioned in a previous peeve, has asked mom to get her a couple boxes of chicken feet. Why did I have to be the one to deliver it? When the friend opened the door, she hacked this cough (I’m sure it was filled with phlegm and mucus) that got me springing a few feet backward.

“Sorry,” she apologized, “I still have COVID.”

I’m sorry, huh? I wanted to say but instead, I said politely, “Oh, you’re fine.”

I couldn’t believe it. How many times have I mentioned I have an abnormally low white blood count, meaning my immune system isn’t at peak conditions? It’s why I’ve been so careful over the years. Yet, it felt like mom sent me right into a lion’s den, waiting to be attacked.

Moments later, the friend came back with the money to reimburse me for the chicken feet. Part of me wanted to run away as fast as I could but instead, I stood still, almost frozen in place while she explained how much she loved chicken feet and that she planned to eat it secretly while her husband wasn’t around. Something told me this is a lonely person and is willing to talk to anyone who can speak her language – Mandarin Chinese.

At last, she dismissed me. Without a second thought, I ran back to the car.

Later that afternoon, we arrived at a chicken farm recommended by my aunt’s co-worker. My aunt had ordered 3 young chickens ahead. “You should give him a piece of your mind for what happened on Christmas Eve.” My mom said as she parked the car.

My aunt and uncle don’t speak and understand English. On Christmas Eve, they ordered 3 chickens, instead of asking for “young” chickens, they asked for “big” chickens. The guy gave them 3 “old” chickens. Old chickens aren’t edible. The meat is like rubber and bland.

As we walked toward the house, my uncle kept saying, “But what do I say? The only swear words I know are ‘f*** you'” Then he began spewing “f*** you” loudly because he’s semi-deaf. Inside, I was like, pipe down, dude, someone can hear you. You’re in public, for crying out loud.

But I was already seething inside. It’s never easy when I have to be in the same space as my aunt and uncle. Being with them stirs up a lot of childhood trauma.

As we waited for the man with the chickens, we watched a lady collect eggs. Naturally, my aunt wanted to know what they were. They were goose eggs. I’ve heard of chicken, duck, quail, and even ostrich but I don’t think I’ve heard of goose egg.

Finally with chicken in a bag (3 lives lost), we returned to the car where mom sat waiting. “Did you give him a piece of your mind?”

“Why didn’t you do it?” My uncle asked me. Oh, so I was supposed to be the one to give the man who just mercilessly murdered 3 chickens a piece of my mind? Uh, no thanks.

We were supposed to be over for dinner that night but the foul smell of the dead chicken made me lose my appetite. So I ended up staying home. I’m just thankful I didn’t throw up.