I may die.

I bought a salad yesterday with spinach, blue cheese, pecans, and steak.
I was going to have it for lunch. But I found my leftover ginger chicken that Marianne made and had that for lunch instead. (It was only four days old, look at me living on the edge!)
So this salad sat out all day yesterday. Rotting meat. But I ate it anyway. It just looked so good.
If I don't post for a few days, call Virgina Mason to see if I'm there.
Naturally, I'm counting on my superior genetic resistance to disease to get me through this, but even I have my limits.
Botulism has no friends.

I'm not keen on returning to ashes anytime soon, but dying due to a food related incident would be especially heinous. And embarrassing.
Mama Cass. Ham sandwich. Dana. Steak salad.
(Actually, Mama Cass did not die of asphyxiation due to choking. She died of a heart attack. There was an untouched ham sandwich beside her though.)


What am I doing putting steak on a salad anyway?
Dumbass.