On bad breakfast sausage

Warning: This post may be an instance of TMI.  Because of certain comments made by certain persons (you know who you are), I have cause to wonder how often I share too much information.  A little something inside me is telling me that this just might be one of those instances.  Still, I'm going to go ahead with it, just in case. ;)

Last night havoc was wreaked on our digestive tracts.  Blake and I have been together all weekend and have been trying to figure out what we ate that was causing us such discomfort.  The most likely candidate was the delicious but spicy chicken mole we made for dinner--that definitely had the potential to wreak some digestive havoc--but then the . . . uh . . . symptoms started right after dinner, much too soon for the mole to have  . . . you know . . . traveled that far.

We finally decided that it was probably the breakfast sausage we had eaten that morning (Sunday).  I awoke to the aroma of said breakfast sausage and the sounds of my sweet husband cooking.  So wonderful.  He had planned to bring me breakfast in bed, but then I ruined it by waking up and coming out to talk to him.  Back to the point: we both ate the sausage again today--there were leftovers--and I can now confirm that it was indeed the breakfast sausage. 

Why did we do that?  We certainly aren't in such bad financial straits that we have to eat bad or even suspicious food.  Apparently our kitchen is run by the innocent until proven guilty principle.  Perhaps a revision of this post is in order; I should be using language like "the allegedly bad breakfast sausage" and "we at the accused again to be certain."  The other member of the jury in the case of the bad breakfast sausage is on a plane right now heading for Salt Lake.  As soon as I hear from him we'll hand in our official verdict.  I can tell you right now though, I'm voting for guilty.  For the sake of the other passengers on board, I'm hoping Blake makes it to Salt Lake before he encounters any more "incriminating evidence."