El Shito

After spending seven hours at a very crowded, very hot amusement park with my husband and daughters last Summer, we stopped at one of our favorite Mexican places on the way home.

We plopped down in our booth and fell into our normal El Toro routine, which is to say, we placed our food and drink orders, and then devoured baskets of chips and bowls of salsa at rates of speed that resemble your typical Man vs. Food episode. We're a delight to our fellow diners.

I ordered my usual. Pollo Fiesta. That's fancy schmancy Spanish for boneless, skinless, grilled chicken breast. Or as my kids call it, "Mom's diet food." Maybe if I changed the name at home, they'd actually eat it. 

 
What's for dinner, you ask? Why it's Pollo Fiesta! And they'd excitedly shout, Olay! A mom can dream, right? 
 
Anyhoo, my husband ordered the same thing.

You know that feeling in your gut that tells you something is terribly wrong? You know, the one we're told never to ignore, thus the phrase 'Follow your gut?' Well, within my first two bites, I got it. And I ignored it. I WAS HUNGRY, OKAY?!?! It’s not that my chicken was bleeding all over my plate or anything. It was just tough. And a little pink. With an ever so slight aftertaste you might describe as...foul...not to be confused with fowl.

By the time my husband took a bite of his chicken, I'd already eaten all of mine. Don't judge me. I was starving, remember? And he eats his cheesy rice first, because he has no sense of order.

 
So I was sitting there silently convincing myself that my chicken had been thoroughly cooked when he said, "Does this chicken taste done to you?" and handed me his fork. I took the bite of chicken and said, "That's what mine was like." He did a double take at my squeaky clean plate and then looked at me like I'd just eaten our family pet. Then he said, "Chef Ramsey says undercooked chicken could kill somebody." 
 
Chef Ramsey also calls people f-ing donkeys, so if you wanna live in that world, just say the word, Chuckles. Not everything on Reality TV is real, okay?!? Why must I always be the voice of reason?

He called our waitress over and told her our chicken was undercooked. She apologized and immediately picked up his plate of chicken and then reached for mine. I sat awkwardly staring at her and she said, "Wow. You must have been hungry."

Well, it would appear somebody doesn't want a tip this evening, because the only thing you're getting from me is the fowl I'm about to flip you by way of middle finger.

Fifteen minutes later, my husband was obnoxiously eating his thoroughly cooked and safe plate of chicken while I sat Googling Salmonella symptoms; Diarrhea, fever, severe abdominal cramps, cold chills, and an incubation period of 5-72 hours. I mentally cleared my week's schedule.

I'm here to tell about it, so I obviously survived the week. There was one close call when I might have experienced a Psychosomatic symptom, sat up in bed, and frantically announced, "I think I'm having the Salmonella cold chills!" and my husband calmly replied, "Orrrr, and stick with me here, the air conditioner kicked on."

I've had just about enough common sense out of you, donkey.