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Food: A Proclamation to the World

As it was an extra chilly morning, I decided to pull out some Malt-o-Meal for Breakfast. Maple and Brown Sugar. Yum. Then I saw the expiration date. December 4, 2003.
Fun Fact #1: My husband and I didn’t get married until 2005.
Fun Fact #2: We didn’t even know each other when this Malt-o-Meal expired. It wouldn’t be until 1 year after the expiration of this Malt-o-Meal, December 2004, that we would go on our first date.
My husband has carted this box of Malt-o-Meal around for the past 6+ years. It makes sense really. His mom is sorta known for eating stuff waaaaaay past the expiration date. Food that is in the rotting stage even. She was raised by a depression era grandmother who never wasted food and to this day she can’t shake the habit. Therefore I, being one who refuses to eat rotting or even questionable food, have been labeled picky. I have a delicate palate. Such a dainty little girl…hehehehe. Mostly these are my husbands thoughts, but I’m pretty sure the rest of the family thinks so as well.
Scene 1: A couple summers ago when we were at my in-laws there was a giant tupperware bowl filled with cut up watermelon. It was delicious. We all stood around feasting on the melon of water. Then I got a piece that made me gag. It tasted like turpentine. Paint thinner? Whatever it was it was nasty. When I spoke up and said I think some of this watermelon is bad my husband was quick to roll his eyes…oh geeze, here she goes again. You always think food is going bad. Everyone else concurred, the watermelon was fine…not just fine, great. My husband takes another bite. His face contorts. He got a bite of the turpentine watermelon. Oh yeah, there’s something wrong with this watermelon. Sweet mother of validation.

See! SEE!!
It was just that once he concluded. You’re still paranoid.
Scene 2: The following Christmas, again at my in-laws, we’re feasting on the traditional Christmas Eve crab legs and steak. Divine and succulent. But the crab, there’s something wrong with my crab. I scan the table. Everyone else is eating the crab just fine. They’re loving it. I don’t want to say anything because it will just be the eye-rolling and the you’re so picky again. I can’t remember if I said something, or if I just offered some of my crab to my husband but as soon as he tasted my crab {why was this just my crab?} he knew there was something wrong with it too. I’m pretty sure he spit it out. Once again, I was right. Not that I wanted to be right…when crab is bad, it’s BAD.
Unfortunately the crab went on to be stored in a freezer with a bunch of other food and contaminating it with it’s gross crabby taste. I couldn’t eat the egg poof the next morning because it tasted like nasty crab. People laughed until they tasted it–yep, tastes like nasty crab. I believe my mother in law was the only one willing to eat the crab tinged egg poof. The creme brulee also had a slight crab feel to it. Most of the family couldn’t detect that one, but I stood by my guns. We joked about it being The Crab that Ruined Christmas. {Of course it didn’t…. nothing can ruin Christmas. The Grinch taught me that}.
In conclusion and for the record I’d like to solemnly proclaim that regardless of the opinions or preferences of those around me I refuse to eat rotten food. And if there is still some question regarding the state of my delicate palate, I’d like to offer my husband an alternate theory. Perhaps, it’s not me. Maybe I’m not overly picky. Maybe, just maybe it’s you and your iron clad stomach genes.
Either that or your family is trying to poison me.
PS I threw out the Malt-o-Meal.
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