Chicken soup

I caught a cold just after Christmas, Anita suggested chicken soup. I know she was right; there is something to the healing power of chicken soup. I couldn't bring myself to purchase a chicken in the market and cooking it. I don't know if it's looking at the naked chickens hanging there upside down or if it is their heads laying in a pile with their eyes looking at me. 

I just couldn't buy one. I know how to cut it up Cambodian style, you put it on the cutting board and whack away at it with a cleaver in random directions until there is not a piece larger than the thumb you cut off trying to hold the chicken on the small block.

It may have been the watching the vendors waving a fly wand at the chickens to try and keep the flies at bay. A fly wand is a stick about ½ meter long with a pompom made of plastic strips on the end.

I don't think it could have been that the chickens are frequently lying on the ground with only an old rice bag between them and the ground. I have eaten enough dirt so I think I am not really adversely affected by that.

I don't think it is that chickens in Cambodia are all skin and bone, no, that could not have anything to do with it.

I guess I just was not sick enough to really need chicken soup.