I’m midway through Salmonella Alert ‘07. So far, none has been spotted. It’s pretty easy to spot salmonella, what with the projectile vomiting and explosive diarrhea.

I’m fine. Really. Last night B. grilled some chicken breasts, corn on the cob, and wee little yellow potatoes, and it was all great. Well, until I got about three bites into my chicken and thought, “Mmmmm … slick and chewy. Oh my God! Chicken shouldn’t be slick and chewy!!!” and commenced spitting chewed food onto my plate and teaching my kid a new way to entertain herself at the dinner table. Sure enough, my chicken wasn’t cooked through.

The other pieces of chicken were fine. Mine was the only raw one.

I have the disadvantage of knowledge in this category. In culinary school, they made damn sure that we knew every single thing there is to know about food-borne illnesses and how to prevent them. Generally, I can touch a piece of chicken or a steak and tell you to what degree it’s been cooked, which makes me feel particularly stupid about devouring half of a raw piece of chicken.

I’m a bit on the paranoid/hypochondriac side as it is. Being on Salmonella Alert ‘07 doesn’t help. Every time my stomach gurgled last night I was sure This Was It. And my stomach gurgled a lot. Turns out I was just hungry from not finishing my dinner.

It would be so much easier if they made early salmonella detection tests. If you see one line, you’re negative. If you don’t see any lines because you’ve befouled the stick, chances are you’re positive.

Salmonella generally manifests within 48 hours of ingestion. I remember that from every class I took in culinary school. From my own personal experiences with the disease (two of them, none of them caused by my own food), I tend to develop it faster than that, and in a manner that completely prevents me from functioning as a human being. I become a vomit zombie, or vombie, if you will.

The first time, I was in college, and it hit quick and fast, delivered via a sandwich from Arby’s. I was incapacitated enough that my mother had to be called to fetch me.

The second time was from St. Louis’ favorite pizza chain (although I have no idea why because my God, they’re gross), Imo’s. I ordered an Italian sub (the same thing I had from Arby’s that made me so ill five years earlier). B. ordered hot wings. I can pretty much guarantee that the genius in the kitchen put B.’s wings in the fryer/oven/delivery car engine block/wherever it is they cook their food, then proceeded to make my sandwich without washing the residual chicken skank from his hands. Not that I witnessed this; I’m just guessing and making unfair assumptions. All I know is I could barely move the next morning, as all of my energy reserves were required for expelling former food items from my body.

Unfortunately, we were supposed to make the 13-hour drive to Michigan to celebrate Christmas with B.’s family that day. He wanted to cancel, but I refused. It was our first Christmas as a married couple and I’d be damned if I was going to ruin it (or have his family think I was wussy enough to be sidelined by residual chicken skank) by staying home. So I puked my way to Michigan.

Also unfortunately, I’m rather fair-skinned, and I tend to rupture every blood vessel in my face when I vomit. By the time we got to Michigan, my face was mapped with every single broken vessel and capillary. A mass of squiggly purple, with bruises around my jaws and the corners of my mouth.

Such a pretty new wife. She’s not contagious, is she? Do you have a life insurance policy on her, because I think she might be dying.

So you can understand why I’m a tad paranoid about last night’s dinner mishap. Abusing my digestive system with a bottomless cup of coffee all day at Cooperella probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I feel slightly ill, and I keep thinking, “Uh oh. This Is It,” and then I remember the three gallons of coffee and I’m reassured that I don’t have salmonella. I have liver failure.

Remind me to tell you about Thanksgiving Rabies Watch ‘99 and the encore, Thanksgiving Rabies Watch ‘00. I’ve discovered that we have a raccoon living in our trees, so maybe we’ll do Thanksgiving Rabies Watch ‘07: The Eighth Anniversary Edition this year.