This afternoon, Jason was heading out for an appointment. I said, as he was about to leave, "Babe, would you pick up some eggs on your way home?" "What's wrong with the ones we have?" "Well," I say, "This carton has a use by date of April 25, and this one has only two eggs left in it that are slightly cracked. You can't use eggs that have been cracked."
"I've been using them", he says, a martial gleam in his eye. He loves to rile me up. THEN, he says, "And what's wrong with the April 25th ones?" I say, "What's wrong is that it's now May 11th. I won't use those eggs. They are like mini-pandemics waiting to happen. I don't have any interest in getting The Salmonella." (I find that if you put "The" in front of any illness it makes it sound so much more threatening.)
Jason thinks that food poisoning can be avoided by sheer force of will. Like it's some sort of affected illness--like women in the 19th century who would succumb to "the vapours".
That's why he'll eat leftovers far after I would've chucked 'em in the garbage. However, I, after once having The Salmonella and seeing that germ guy on Oprah a few times, am more cautious. But April 25th eggs??? You gotta be kidding me.
It's a good thing Jason's such an amazing father, attentive, loving husband, good cook, and total biscuit. Cause I just don't know sometimes.