Spinach & My Russian Lover
The other night, amid all the E. coli spinach news, I went out for chinese food. I ordered the tofu soup. When it arrived, I noted the green leaves floating on top. I tasted it and decided to order something else than risk rectal bleeding for the second time in a week.
Always polite (yes, I'm still talking about me), I took the soup to go rather than send it back to the kitchen. I didn't want the kitchen staff to know that I was on to their attempt to kill me.
Last night, after the hockey game (Ilya Kovalchuk will be my husband, mark my words), I was hungry. I uncorked last night's bottle of wine and took a sip directly from the bottle (hockey makes me feel so girly). I scratched my ass and scanned the fridge. My options were:
- Carbonated water (orange and lime)
- Wasabe horseradish
- Minty Clinique lotion (feels so good when it's chilled)
- Beer (support your local brewery)
- Leftover tofu and E. coli soup
The skin on the roof of my mouth is falling off in large pink sheets, but still no sign of abdominal cramping.
I know that I should exercise caution and avoid spinach. I could have had beets and wasabe as a midnight snack. But then, what would I have to blog about? Nothing generates comments like rectal bleeding.
I am still waiting. Expect regular updates. Or maybe irregular updates.
As for the Trashers, Ilya played fabulously for me. He makes me so proud. Everything would be perfect between us if he knew my name. And that I'm alive. And ridiculously cute. Also, it would be nice if he was attractive. I am determined to ride the Zamboni this year to catch his eye. Coach Hartley knows I'm alive. At the end of Ilya's penalty, I stood up and screamed, "Let Ilya play!" He promptly put him back in. I am so influential.
No cramping yet.
P.S. If I die from the E. coli soup, tell Ilya that he was The One.