Having lived a mere seven minutes away from the fish market for the last seven months, last weekend my husband and I finally had a chance to check it out.

Mistake number one was the fact I had unwisely opted to wear flip-flops. For your information: fishy water, dried up scales and feet don't mix.

Taking my overly dramatic (but all the more lovable) husband along was mistake number two. The minute we entered and were hit with what can only be explained as an “overpowering” aroma of fish, he was on his way out the door. However, after a few choice words, he was back at my side.

We took a full tour around the stalls filled with layer upon layer of iced down fish, prawns, octopus, shark and a few questionable items my husband and I couldn't identify if we tried.

We ended up being recommended to a stall farther down, since we were firm about not buying the whole fish but rather two fillets for dinner. Who needs all that fish when it's just the two of us?

My husband pointed to a long kingfish on the table and asked how much. The seller named his price and my husband agreed easily, committing mistake number three.

I was shocked and again felt the need to indulge in another whispered conversation. And so my husband did his part (on my behalf, since we all know how great my bargaining skills are) but the seller already seemed to know we didn't really mean it.

As we waited for our fish to be cut, one man strode up to the stall and flipped open the gills of a fish to see if they were still pink inside. Not satisfied, he headed to another stall. Mistake number four: finding out what to look for in a fish after you've already purchased it.

Despite my powers of persuasion, somehow we manage to walk away with an enormous fish, enough to feed a small army when all we really needed was two fillets. We must have the word “sucker” stamped on our foreheads.

Finally, mistake number five: fish for dinner. Again.