So I'm all jacked and tan from my complexes. My hands are quaking in excitement as I surgically separate the love handle spawning egg yolks from the eggs. Pensively I reach into the fridge and grab an untouched, supple yellow onion, and an equally attractive shiny, virgin, green pepper. Still sporting a partial from looking at the veins in my shoulders and arms in the mirror, I dice the pepper and onion in a fury that makes a Japanese steakhouse chef look like Forrest Gump trying to microwave a hot pocket.
I slice off an ab friendly pad of butter and let it drop onto a warm, inviting pan. I throw the pepper and onion into the sensual butter bath, with some fresh cracked pepper and sea salt. My home soon fills with the erotic odor of cooked green pepper and caramelized onions. I can barely contain myself. I frantically scramble over the fridge and tear the bag of diced ham open. I thrust my hand into the bag and laugh maniacally as the tiny pink cubes sizzle and tumble into the pan.
Then I realize all is not well. Something smells like cheese, and it's not the cheese I have waiting with trepidation on the counter. I bring my hands up to my nostrils, inhaling slightly, and the aroma hits me- definitely not the cheese I want in my omelette, no, this is not the kind of cheese for any food. This. Isn't. Cheese. I'm. smelling.
I notice my finger tips tend to stick together and feel a slight layer of slime in and around my fingers. It then dawns on me. I open up the bag of ham again, this time close to my face. A pungent odor resembling Satan's taint after a deadlifting session rapes in the side of my olfactory ducts.
I look at the date of expiration on the bag: 3/11/2011.
I almost ate 9 day old expired ham.
Today I almost died because of really old ham.