Almost Out the Nose
At work today, a co-worker shared a bit of her lunch, some Italian salami. Bad news, though; it was starting to turn. I didn't mind; I could tell it had a few more hours before the turning meat taste would be overpowering. (I've been told I have an Iron Gut. Never sick on bad food, ever.)
She, however, tasted that initial turn and spat it out. I ate a few more before she tossed the package. We headed out to get some grub elsewhere instead.
On the way, she was remarking on my ability to eat tainted meat. Just before taking a sip of soda, she said, "You're probably going to get trichinosis."
"Oh, no," I said without missing a beat, "trichinosis tastes totally different."
That soda got spat on the beauty bark, but almost. . . .
She, however, tasted that initial turn and spat it out. I ate a few more before she tossed the package. We headed out to get some grub elsewhere instead.
On the way, she was remarking on my ability to eat tainted meat. Just before taking a sip of soda, she said, "You're probably going to get trichinosis."
"Oh, no," I said without missing a beat, "trichinosis tastes totally different."
That soda got spat on the beauty bark, but almost. . . .