When Good Food Goes Bad.

So, I'm on Hypochondria High Alert. Dying of a food borne illness is on my list of top five greatest fears. It seems lately the gods of food prep are teasing me, causing my worry gene to work overtime. Usually I take extreme care to make sure food is cooked properly, my hands are clean, etc. For instance, on Tuesday I purchased a plastic bottle of iced tea from a convenience store. When the lid popped off way too easily, not even breaking the plastic ring I knew I had wasted 99 cents because there was no way I was drinking that tea. I had outsmarted whatever devious factory worker had messed with my tea. Nice try, tea tainter.

In the last 24 hours, however, I have tempted fate. First, I was convinced I would be taken out by some contaminated supermarket chowder. We pulled two empty cups off the stack but only needed one. When I went to put the extra back I noticed the third cup on the stack was covered in some sort of clear, perhaps industrial, liquid. Amanda convinced me that the cup she had subsequently filled with corn chowder was not the one that had touched the greasy, petroleum-covered third cup. I was dubious, yet my lust for tasty food won out and I ate the chowder anyway.

Then, when we got home, I made chicken soft tacos with all the fixings, including sour cream. Only after enjoying the tacos did I realize that the seam on the bottom of the plastic sour cream container was split ever so slightly. With my head suddenly swimming I tried to convince myself that the container ruptured in our fridge and not six weeks ago in the warehouse. Because if it had ruptured anytime earlier than in my fridge I know that Bryan-killing bacteria has rushed in waiting to unleash its destructive evil on an unsuspecting Bryan.

For now, I am showing no outward signs of my food attacking me. But I know my insides are being slowly turned to goo as the bacteria vanquishes my white blood cells. Pray for me.