Okay. Make that The Second Worst Idea Ever. Because I'm pretty sure the Worst Idea Ever was that time I decided to flick a bumblebee out of the pocket of my shirt while driving a Chevy Chevette on a winding road at 55 mph.
This current, non-ambulance-necessitating Worst Idea Ever involved my evening meal last night. I did not care to partake of tacos so late in the day, because we elderly have a little issue with acid indigestion, and Pepcid Complete has disappeared from the shelves of The Devil's Playground and everyplace else, including the innernets. So I baked up a polish sausage. Not the good kind, like a kielbasa or a bratwurst. Just a regular thin hot-dog size. I like it baked, because then it's kind of like when it has been on the grill, because you can get a black, charred crust on the outside.
We had some leftover hamburger buns in the cabinet, so I decided, "Why waste a fresh hot dog bun when I can use a stale hamburger bun a day before the chickens get them, since it's terrible to toss away money these days in this economy, when any money I save can be applied to a Sonic Route 44 Diet Coke with Lime?"
I took out a bun. I sliced my charred sausage down the middle lengthwise to flatten it out. Duh! How did you think I was going to keep it from rolling off the bun? Because it was too long for the hamburger bun, I also sliced it in half, and stacked the two-by-two flattened sausage pieces on the bun. I added mustard to each side of the bun. And tossed in a bit of chopped onion from the taco fixin' bowl, and a couple of half-slices that were left over. Because onion indigestion is not as severe as taco sauce indigestion.
Second. Worst. Idea. Ever.
When I bit into it, the sausage rafts slid apart. The bun disintegrated like that hard styrofoam block in the bottom of a wire-stemmed fake flower arrangement. Mustard shot out from all directions. I swear I even got it between my toes. Onion bits fell out.
I felt like David Hasselhoff trying to eat a cheeseburger.
Maybe this was the Third Worst Idea Ever.