When Good Food Rebels

Today I, like an optimistic fool, made a lunch for my boyfriend and I at 6:45 AM. Lots of things go on before 7 AM...many of them I have no control over (rain, genocide, burglaries--that sort of thing) but I have concluded that one of those things should not be the preparation of anything edible besides cereal or raw fruit. "Why?" you may ask. Well, this is why.

This morning, I stumbled into my kitchen at 6:30 like I always do--slowly and with much resignation. The meal of champions was anything that required minimal thought and cooking skills--toast. Insert bread, wait, flip bread over, wait, search for butter. The toast was so unremarkable in every way that I decided I should make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with it for my lunch. I then went about my merry way with my morning ablutions, stopping occasionally to scare my cat away from the ham sandwich I made for my beloved.

Lunch rolls around. It is a bleak day--sky a skatter'd with clouds, trees creaking ominously in the wind. Not a good reception to your pb and j. After eating my food, I laid down in my car for a pre-physics nap. While I was just drifting off to dreamyland, my stomach made a sound that can only be described as sinister and I experienced a pain which can only be described as stabbing in my abdomen. "Fantastic," I thought as I felt the contents of my stomach curdle. "Nothing to look forward to except and hour a half of excruciating pain and physics."

I was correct on all accounts. Thankfully, when my teacher started going about sine and cosine, my stomach started to feel better. Thinking I was over the worst of it, I went to the library and read "Sideways" while I waited for my boyfriend to get out of his class (about 2 hours). "Sideways" has a lot of long, descriptive narratives about wine--focusing specifically on the smells. Fifty pages of "under-ripe pear", "blackberry", and "pungent gourmet cheese" later, I found my head sweating, my stomach rolling and and my legs shaking. I became paralyzed with fear when I realized I had to do the unthinkable: vomit in a public restroom trash can.

I don't know if you've ever been in this situation before, put public restroom trash cans don't smell very good. Probably the only thing that smells worse is the public restroom toilets. You get the distinct impression you weren't the fist person who regurgitated into the industrial tin spray painted receptical. Also, it is a very public place, which invites very loud public comments about your decency. Well, fuck you--I am vomiting.

After regaining control of my body and concluding that I couldn't fashion a clever disguise out of the contents of my purse, I went back to the library and took a nap on top of "Sideways."I awoke feeling renewed and pleasantly nausea free. I concluded I had been food poisoned by the strange jelly I put on my sandwich this morning. I should know better than to trust pink goo in a jar anyways.

When I got home today, I decided that toast would be a good choice on a still shakey digestive system. When I opened the cupboard, the wheat bread was missing. So, naturally, I yelled "What you guys throw away good bread for?" To which I got this response: "That bread wasn't any good. It has mold all over it." Horrified, I opened the trash can to see several slices of bread growing green mold on the bottom crust. I had ate four slices of fuzzy, moldy bread.

I have been betrayed by one of my favorite foods. I thought we had each other's backs, whole wheat. Why have you forsaken me? WHY?

I may never be the same again.