As a general rule, grudges are bad.
Forgive and forget is usually the better, more enlightened way to live life.
Usually. But, not always.
Case in point: food poisoning. From a restaurant*. It’s hard to just let it go when you’ve been, ahem, letting it go literally from all ends after a bad meal. In my case, I don’t even have to be the victim in the pooported incident — I’ll boycott an eatery solely based on anecdotal evidence. That’s enough for me! It goes without saying that I pay close attention to roach reports (aka health department inspection write-ups). Yup, I’m that averse to food poisoning. My husband? He is much more forgiving, too forgiving, if you ask me. In fact, 20-some years and three children after a very specific, unfortunate incident involving him and a burrito, I have yet to return to this one particular joint. He still eats there. Weirdo.
Since spousal communications privilege doesn’t apply when it’s a great, albeit slightly embarrassing story and the, uh, statoot of limitations for him being angry with me for sharing this has surely run out, I present, ladies and gents, the tale of the Bleacharito ™ — and TMI…
Many, many, MANY years ago when we were young and didn’t have to pay attention to cholesterol or sodium and we didn’t think twice about the intestinal ramifications of spending less than $1.99 for an entire meal off a menu that appeared to be crafted by 11-year-old boys daring each other at a sleepover, my husband grabbed lunch on the run from a popular fast food place. He unwrapped his meal, took a bite of burrito and thought it tasted off, and so naturally, he took another bite. Sure enough, something hidden in there was definitely not an identifiable food substance, kind of like the meat. He peeled back the tortilla and saw powder, not traditionally one of the layers touted in this multi-layer entree.
He drove back to the eatery, to uncover what had contaminated his food. Turned out, someone had knocked cleaning powder into the beans. (Weirdly, we found out later that other people who worked in the same building as we did had eaten at this exact same place the exact same day and found the exact same powder.)
He called poison control, visited the ER just to be on the safe side and later revealed to me that even though he felt OK, he farted and it smelled like bleach.
“You’re self-cleaning!” I told him. He was not amused.
We ended up swaddling what was left of the ‘rito in plastic and then foil and froze it, just in case we needed it as evidence** later for a possible trial.
In the end, everything turned out just fine, no bad short- or long-term health effects, an AMAZING family legend and, as an added bonus, a $500 check for all his pain, suffering and loss of consortium*** because my husband was deprived of his true love — cheap fast food. Or at least, would have been deprived if he were as stubborn as I am. He stayed away for maybe a month and then went back to eating there. Lunatic.
*It’s much easier to forgive if it’s accidental food poisoning courtesy of someone you know. This one time, my husband and I went to a coworker’s catered birthday party along with many other work buddies, and we allllll ended up with food poisoning. The day after the party, several of us hung out together and laughed as we compared notes on the exact time we first sprinted to the bathroom. When we all were back at work on Monday, we couldn’t help ourselves — we let the barf and poop puns fly the entire day. The poor birthday girl was mortified when we finally ‘fessed up to her. I still think it was funny.
**When we were packing and moving five years after this happened, we found the Bleacharito tucked at the back of the freezer, all bundled and still waiting to be introduced at trial. We tossed it.
***When my hub told one of his lawyer friends this story back when it happened they joked about how he could sue for loss of consortium, which is a legal term that refers to “deprivation of the benefits of a family relationship” due to injuries caused by the other party. Yes, that is exactly how much he adored this place.