Shorter-Than-Me-san and I were in the kitchen cooking stuff a few minutes ago. She was making something complicated involving a rice cooker and leeks and water chestnuts, and I was making macaroni from a box. Deciding that my bubbling macaroni looked sadly monochromatic compared to her thing, I chopped up half an onion and put it in there, then still dissatisfied with its hue, went to get some green stuff.
Her: “Is that spinach?”
Me, dropping a handful in the water: “Yeah, do you need any?”
Her: “No, no – I heard that spinach was bad. My brother was watching TV and saw that people have died from eating spinach.”
Me: “…can you watch my noodles for a minute while I go on the internet?”
Her: “Sure, okay…”
So apparently there’s E. coli in the spinach. My lack of a television or radio meant I’d missed this. Fine. Damnit. I got up to go throw away my poor macaroni and onion, but then a brilliant thought struck me – shouldn’t boiling kill E. coli? I sat down again and inquired of Google, and Google said yes.
Feeling extremely smug, I returned to my spinach, which had now been boiling for several minutes – my problem, in perfect congruence with my rich-girl expectations, had taken care of itself. I reassured Shorter-Than-Me-san of my immortality, but tossed the rest of the deadly green so as not to creep her out.
Now I’m wondering if I’ll get a refund if I take my receipt down to the store – I only bought the stuff within the past two days, I’ve probably still got it somewhere. That spinach was the expensive organic stuff, I want my $5 back.
Yeah. So extremely minor brushes with death are funny.