When Egg Salad Sandwiches Go Bad

About a year and a half ago, a former girlfriend's mother sent with her daughter a generous slice of German Chocolate Cake for me, in honor of my birthday, which is in the late Spring. As much as I love German Chocolate Cake, I'm not as much a fan of my birthday. For this reason, possibly, or for some underlying subconscious resistance, I let that slice of cake sit in my car for about a week, where temperatures consistently rose over 100 degrees. A week late, I was hungry, and decided that I would really like that slice of cake. At the time, it was gooey and chocolatey and delicious. the next morning, face the color of plastic, I called out of work.

The egg salad sandwiches I ate yesterday, delicious as they were at the time, should have been eaten sooner. It didn't really hit me until I was running around with the Rappahanock Rugby Club at practice. During a mauling drill, I came out from the melee holding my stomach, not quite sure if I had mistakenly been punched in the balls, or I needed to grab a tree in the woods. It turned out to be the latter.

The coach asked me if I was alright, but I was already sprinting to my car for the toilet paper I keep in my kit bag. I found a spot next to the river, dropped my rugby shorts, grabbed a tree limb, and blew mud all over the ivy underfoot. I stood there for a minute, panting and sweating, before composing myself enough to clean myself off and get back into the practice.