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BlackChampagne -- no longer new; improvement also in question.: Sometimes it's better not to know.



Friday, May 04, 2007  

Sometimes it's better not to know.


So I had a tub of sour cream in the fridge last night, and I was considering cooking something that sour cream could be usefully applied to. Before things escalated to that extent though, I began to wonder just how old that sour cream was. The creamy white goop is rather known for its perishibility, after all. So I started debating it, and trying to remember when I bought it, and the more I thought, the more suspicious I became. Pretty soon I'd not only talked myself out of making taquitos supreme, but had decided to throw away the sour cream as well. But before I did, I had to check to see how rotten it was.

Why? Good question. I was already committed to not eating it and throwing it out, so why bother looking inside the container? Did I crave the sight of green/brown/yellow mold creeping across the surface of the pristine whiteness? Perhaps, but I didn't get that joy, for there was no sign of mold within. It didn't even smell janky.

Paradoxically, that just made me more suspicious. I had decided it was old and rotten, therefore it was supposed to be old and rotten, and the fact that it was old and maybe not rotten merely deepened my suspicions. I dumped it out and washed out the container for future emergency storage needs, and as I did I tried to construct a metaphor that would analogize this situation. Why do people (obviously including myself) have to check to see if something is gross or dirty or rotten when we're throwing it out anyway? You know you look at a bandaid when you change it, or peer closely at the mold on the surface of bread you never got around to eating, etc. I think it's just curiosity, and it's not just potentially cat-killing, but psyche-scarring.

So here's my advice. If you're in a bar and some hot (by bar lighting, at least) girl all but picks you up, and you two end up making out in your car and suddenly she's got her head in your lap and you're thinking it's the best night ever... when she's leaving, don't check. Do you really want to know if "she" has a vagina or not? Think of it as the Eddie Murphy correlation. Except, of course, Eddie wanted a transsexual prostitute.

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Comments:

I would just check the expirey date on the sour cream and then decide if it is actually off by looking at it.

Or don't you have them in your backwards non-retractable-vacuum-chord, old-fashioned-tea-kettle, send-cheques-by-mail country?


 

Price of new sour cream: $1 to $1.50.

Price of hospital visit: 60-100 dollars.

Good call, Flux.


 

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