Dangerous

 So do you remember how PTB's house is full of expired medications? Well, here at casa de M&M, you also have to be wary of expiration dates. This week I learned that the danger zone extends beyond the medicine cabinet and into the refrigerator.
My sister has apparently been the victim of expired foodstuff here before, so she's particularly diligent about checking dates.
When she arrived on Wednesday for the holiday weekend, she was hungry and set about making a sandwich. I laughed at her as I watched her check the dates on the mayo and mustard, and examine the pickle jar. Everything looked okay, so she pulled out a new package of deli meat and made her sandwich.
All is well.

Fast forward to later that evening when we're making dinner for the kids. We gave them all some of the deli turkey, and I hear Alex complain that it doesn't taste good.
We sniff the bag and... ew. Not fresh. The "new"-looking bag wasn't so new after all.

Now my sister and I share a neurotic fear of vomiting. Not that anyone out there particularly enjoys it, but we take our hatred of puking to a new level. I personally would rather feel nauseaus all day than just throw up and feel better.
So naturally, Corie, who felt 100% fine the minute before hearing that she had eaten bad deli meat 6 hours earlier, was suddenly nauseaus and certain that food poisoning was in her immanent future. And being the kind sister that I am, I encouraged her to eat a lot of cake and ice cream, because then when she threw up she would have enjoyed the goodies without the calories!
It's not considered bulimia if you have food poisoning, right? Just taking advantage of a bad situation.

But despite all the worry, no one got sick and we could all laugh about it the next day.

At least until Corie went to make some toast and realized that the bread used in her infamous sandwich was now growing a fungus the color of a lime.

Acutally, then we laughed even harder. Like so hard we almost peed our pants. 

I'm telling you, it's dangerous here. People are either trying to kill me with old drugs, old food, or trick aerobics steps. Because I'm quite certain that the step I used in the aerobics class I took at church this morning must have jumped. If not, I would have to admit that I totally fell off if it, twisted my ankle, and landed on my butt in front of the whole class entirely on my own.
And naturally that's not possible. I'm nothing if not graceful and coordinated.
But my ankle still hurts.

Hey look everybody! It's me. In a picture. Sprouting a tree from my head.

My husband has been on my case for never being in pictures, so I thought I would appease him. But now I remember why I don't like pictures of myself. I never know how big to smile and recently I've been thinking that in pictures my mouth is looking a lot like Greta Van Susteren's.
That's not really a good thing.


Happy Monday to you all, I'm going to go practice smiling in front of the mirror now.