Must've Been Something I Ate

I must be getting old. Gray hairs, crow's feet, and now - horror of horrors - a vulnerable tummy. In my younger years I could eat anything, the spicier and the weirder the better, and not feel any effects. Until now.

Last Sunday, my husband took me out for a late lunch/early supper at a local bistro. My salad wasn't great - the lettuce was slightly wilted, and comprised mostly of large, watery stem pieces. But, being hungry, I ate it anyway.

I didn't regret that decision until four hours later, when I was doubled over with the worst cramps I'd ever experienced. Oh, swell...Valentine's Day weekend, and I get food poisoning!

I've been beset by this malady in the past (note to self: avoid all shellfish), but always managed to bounce back fairly quickly. Not this time. I was laid out flat for a day and a half. I knew I was in the clear when I woke up this morning with a pancake craving. Carbs...give me carbs!

Bleah. I'm learning the hard way that my insides aren't made of cast iron as much as I'd like them to be. From now on I'll have to be more careful about my menu choices. Salads? Right out. Shellfish? Ditto.

Like my husband says, no one ever heard of getting food poisoning from a Twinkie.

Water, Water Everywhere

In a bout of schizophrenia, the weather decided to turn springlike this weekend, as in 50 degrees and deluge of rain. I kid you not, we got about 2 inches worth of rain over our snow and frozen ground. And, since the water didn't have anywhere else to go, it ended up in our basement.

Shit.

Having been through this before, my husband pulls out the fans, the electric blower, and the bleach spray, and goes to work. The problem? He refuses to acknowledge that the carpet beneath his wrestling mats has gotten wet, and will not pull them up so that it will dry.

The result? An increasingly strong mildew smell, so strong it's making me ill, that he tries to cover up with various air fresheners. And when I try to go downstairs to do something about it, he yells at me to leave it alone.

Well, I won't let him make me sick. As soon as he leaves for work, those goddamn mats are coming up; both they and the carpet beneath are getting sprayed with bleach water, as is anything else that got wet and could be growing spores.

This macho "I know how to fix things and you don't" shit has got to stop. Now.