I'm not really afraid of much. Spiders and snakes are gross...but I'm not afraid of them. I'm not scared of being mugged or someone hiding in my car. VERY occasionally, I might spook myself out on a night where Gavin is away for work, but that only lasts a minute or two. I'm not afraid of heights, but you won't find me jumping out of an airplane anytime soon. I can't really think of anything that really makes me scared...except for the possibility of getting food poisoning.
I can't tell you how often I think about it. In fact, just this morning Gavin was rifling through our fridge and talking about the possibility of making burgers for lunch because he found some ground beef in there. My first question, "What's the date on it?" It really annoys my husband.
Sorry honey. I've just heard you barf WAY too many times.
I wish I only had one story about food poisoning, but I have many.
When we were newly married, Gavin had purchased what I like to call a "log-o-beef" from the local grocery store. Also, when we were first married I didn't eat or cook beef. At all. So, when Gavin had realized that the beef was still in the fridge a couple of weeks later, he panicked and not wanting to waste his precious log, proceeded to cook up some chili-mac (grody). I begged him to throw the beef away and even made a phone call to his mom asking for clarification on what "bad beef" looked like. Gav and I argued back and forth a bit until I finally said, "If you eat that and get sick, I will be SO mad at you." After assuring me he would be fine, and again not wanting anything to go to waste, Gavin ate an enormous amount of his log-o-chili-mac. The next 24ish hours were a newlywed nightmare. And there began my fear of food poisoning.
This fear has plagued me. I once spent an entire week's vacation in Mexico eating only dry cereal and tortillas because nearly every restaurant we ate at/walked past/drove-by/talked about came with some story of a family member having gotten food poisoning from it. I couldn't bear to expose myself to that possibility or to the possibility of me getting sick in front of Gavin's mom, dad, sister and brother on our first trip together. I was safe that trip, but Gavin's brother did not fair so well.
Our first trip to Hawaii, Gavin spent the first 1.5 days holed-up in our hotel bathroom.
We had to cancel our flight home from California one Easter because Gavin couldn't leave the restroom.
And that's just the TIP of the iceberg.
Oh, how I wish I could describe what it's like to stand outside the bathroom door when my sweet husband is going through this torment, but I think he's been embarrassed enough.
And now, I'm neurotic about fully-cooked (dry) chicken, never past their date dairy and making sure there isn't a speck of weirdness on anything I eat. And sometimes, I just choose to go hungry.
I love you honey, and I hope I never have to hear you barfing again. Please and thank you.