I don’t have a life insurance policy!

Since this flu/cold/immune system compromise thing has kicked my ass for yet another day, I missed our apartment building holiday party last night. Naturally, I sent AB down for food because they typically put out a serious spread (including beer and wine, which if I was well, would have been all kinds of awesome) — just a few nibbles, being that I don’t have much of an appetite. And he’s awesome like that… even though I know it’s uncomfortable flying solo at one of these get-togethers.

This is the second day this week, he has brought me home stuffed mushrooms (the other from his office holiday happy hour), which I refuse to eat because of a shrimp-stuffed incident some seven or eight years ago at a potluck picnic party. Yet, there the little guys were, “But they are stuffed with bacon and potato!” Interesting, right? No dice. I’m not eating them.

So, I make my way around the plate — veggies, hummus dip, cheese (one made with olives… puke), and he convinces me that these mini quiches are delicious. Ignoring my internal warnings about these hor d’oeuvres because of — yet again — another party/shellfish foul, I eat one. Mmmmm. It’s like a mini quiche Lorraine. I bite into the second…

IT’S FREAKING SHELLFISH.

Needless to say, I went running to the kitchen to rinse out my mouth and spit into the sink.

Hilariously, when AB passed out later on that night, I nudged him because of his annoying snoring. He belted out a “NOTHING!” then rolled over. His sleep-talking keeps me quite entertained during my bouts of insomnia. When I questioned him about that response, he said, “I’m not lying!”

Perhaps a little guilt about feeding me (literally) to the fishes?!

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.