Dirty Melons Kill 13 and Counting.*

Worst listeria outbreak in a decade.

* Bear with me, they're changing the number around as new information is gathered.

"[Cantaloupe] is susceptible because of its rough, porous skin and soft, succulent interior...knives can carry bacteria from the outside of the melon into the flesh when they slice through."

AND YET YOU MOCK ME WHEN I TELL YOU I WASH ALL MY PRODUCE WITH SOAP.

It's so tragic. I mean, this is exactly the kind of thing that made me a complete basket-case the entire time I was pregnant. I was convinced at all times that the very next food I ate was going to contain listeria and I would have a miscarriage or stillbirth. I was constantly paranoid. (And thus, my diet was awfully limited, and I actually avoided a lot of fresh, "healthy" food--you never know who handled your salad ingredients or if the tomatoes rolled in manure that will kill you, and I am telling you, I was Terrified. Of. Listeria. This is why I stuck to potato chips and bagels, which don't often poison people, and this is why I gained 89334783 pounds.) 

It's bad enough thinking you're going to eat at a potluck and come home with a raging case of the trots because someone let the mini-weenies sit out too long in the crockpot. But listeria? From a little old fruit salad? It's so awful.

---

See, this is what goes through my head when I read something like this: I immediately enter panic mode and think, "Nothing is safe. I can't eat anything, I can't eat anywhere. You never, ever know when this is going to strike. It could be any food, at any moment: spinach. tomatoes. peanut butter. cantaloupe. lettuce. sprouts. ground beef. chicken. anything. anywhere. anytime. I can never ever ever ever ever eat at a restaurant again. I can't ever buy a salad mix at the store ever ever ever ever again. I can't chance eating any prepared food. Nothing is worth the risk." Most rational people probably think, "The risk is low. I will continue eating my restaurant-prepared salad with confidence. The pleasure of eating at a restaurant is worth the risk to me." And my internal dialogue counters your internal dialogue with, "Yes, but the one time--the ONE TIME your loved one eats tainted sprouts and dies--was it worth it then?" That's just how my mind works. It's impossible to control or stop.

:(

Parks and Recreation, Plus Poop.

Yesterday was a tough day, anxiety-wise. We went Maya's little BFF's 5th birthday party, along with a zillion other little school friends of this little girl. The party was lovely--a gorgeous day at the park and splash pad, food, drinks, games, a fabulous hostess. I thought I would have an easier time of it, since we were outdoors with fresh air and such, but as always, OCD manages to make its appearance.

It first appeared when the watermelon was being sliced. It hadn't been washed first; in fact it had been sitting on the super grody cement floor of the covered park area. (And seriously, people, you really ARE supposed to wash your damn dirty melons, whether or not you have OCD.)

So there sat the unwashed melon, sliced up and sitting on a picnic table, mocking me. Mocking, I tell you. Maya kept asking, "Can I have some watermelon? Please? Please? I really want some!" And I kept trying to distract her. But finally I had to give in. Because who doesn't let their kid eat watermelon at a picnic? I said a prayer to the Patron Saint of Escherichia coli and let my child dive in.

Jo, 1. OCD, 0.

...Not that I'm sitting here on pins and needles, waiting 1-10 days for the first appearance of hemorrhagic colitis, which is characterized by the sudden onset of abdominal pain and severe cramps, followed within 24 hours by diarrhea, soon becoming watery and grossly bloody, along with vomiting and fever, bowel necrosis and perforation, progressing to hemolytic uremic syndrome, which then causes acute kidney failure in infants and young children, where the infection continues to move into the cells’ cytoplasm and then shut down the cells’ protein machinery, resulting in cellular injury or death, and subsequent damage to vital organs such as the kidney, pancreas, and brain. Nope. Not me. Doesn't mean I'm sitting here for 1-10 days on pins and needles at all.

Also, not that I noticed or anything, but...

On a hot tin table.

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The second moment of panic came when the cake was served. She had handmade a gorgeous cake, but it came in segments that had to be placed together. The cake was totally stuck to the plate it was on, so it required massive amounts of manhandling with bare fingers to be smooshed together with the other parts. At one point my friend, recognizing what was going on in my sweaty brain, said, "I know Jo is having a heart attack right now." No, not a heart attack, friend. Mere palpitations. I answered, "Maya will have a center piece, please." And gave her my best, watery "I'ne jos keeding!" smile.

Observe, actual finger impressions:

I could have refused to let Maya have a piece, but come on. Look at this face. She is actually salivating, tongue out:

Friend, I love you, and you are beautiful, and your party was beautiful. But you gotta know how bad my shits were freaked. I know that none of this is news to you. ;) Because you love me despite my OCD, and I love you despite your lack of it. ;)

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Anyway. The third offender of the day was...THE HOT TIN SLIDE!!

Today, it did not have fossilized human poop on it.

But it sure as hell did have baked-on, caked-on BIRD SHIT.

Dun...DUN...DUNNNNN

Sigh.

Just another day at the park, OCD-style.