Thursday, September 09, 2010

While getting groceries the other day, Steve was lucky enough to locate some kind of wonderful blueberry cornbread stuff that was quite delicious. I think it was actually some kind of cake made of cornmeal instead of flour, but whatever it was, it was great. It wasn't rich, but it wasn't something you could eat a lot of at a time either, so the small loaf of the stuff lasted quite a few days. After lunch one day, I was jonesing for something a bit sweet, and I saw that we had one last slice of the cake and I decided I would eat it before Steve got home from work (so I didn't have to share, you see). I popped it into the microwave to give it a bit of a nuke, I poured a glass of milk and settled down at my computer desk to read something and enjoy my cake.

Now, because I was seated in front of the computer and reading something, and also because the nature of blueberries is to stain any surrounding cake, muffin or bread a purplish-greenish-blue, I didn't notice that I was about to take a bite out of a cake that contained a rotten blueberry. Even had I been paying attention, I still don't know if I would have been able to tell it was rotten, because blueberries baked inside pastry of any kind tend to already look smooshy and oozy, so at this point, I was boned. I took my first bite, chewed for a second, and thought to myself "What foul hell is this?!"

Apparently, inside my head, I talk like Frasier Crane.

A person faced with something this gross would have the initial reaction of spitting the cake out, don't you think? I might have done that, if I had been anywhere else but my office. However, I have learned over time that spitting food all over your computer isn't the proper way to care for electronics, so I simply sat there not chewing OR ridding myself of the food in my mouth. Also, since my brain had started this adventure with the idea of "YAY, DELICIOUS CAKE," for some reason it didn't hit me right away that something was actually wrong with the cake itself. I seriously thought to myself "Wow, is the milk bad?" Keep in mind, I had not tasted the milk at this point. It was as if my head was so wrapped around the idea that the cake was good, that it tried to convince me that something else was wrong entirely. It took another few chews before my tongue and brain agreed that it WAS the cake that was dodgy and my throat slammed shut, refusing to let me swallow my food, thereby keeping the foul, spoiled blueberry in my mouth even longer. A foul, spoiled, warm blueberry. That it was warm somehow made it worse.

I realize now that all of this happened in seconds, but as with other terrible things, time stretched out much longer, so this simple experience wound up feeling rather epic. Homer himself could have written volumes about this terrible thing and not adequately expressed the horror.

Don't worry, this story doesn't end with projectile vomiting or anything of the sort, and I did finally engage my faculties enough to spit out the cake and throw the rest of it away. I did have to run my tongue under the faucet in the kitchen, though, so I'm glad no one with a camera was around. It did teach me one very good lesson, which I will share with all of you. It's because I care...

**Never, ever eat the last piece of blueberry cornbread cake stuff. Always save it for your loving spouse. This way, if it is indeed rotten or spoiled, it isn't YOU who has to deal with it.**


1 comment:

Kenny said...

That might be the funniest thing I've read here.