I don't know if I've told this story here before, but it's a memory which still manages to crack me up, so maybe it will have the same effect on you. A long time ago when I still living at home, my mom bought a jar of peanut butter with the words "BAD—DO NOT EAT" written on it in black permanent marker. My brother and I asked her why in the world she would buy something like that: food with dangerous warnings written on it? A closer inspection showed its seal had been broken under the lid. She said she didn't know, and put it in the cabinet.
"Well, you're not going to eat it, are you?!"
"I'm not going to throw it away." You have to understand Mom's positiong: she grew up in the latter stages of The Great Depression and never, ever threw an ounce of food away. Why, one time my brother took a bite of an apple, threw it in the trash, and Mom dug it out of the trash then handed it to him. "Eat it." I know that example can only slightly explain her strange need to adopt an unwanted container of peanut butter. Or whatever reasoning she came up with to actually some of it.
Two days later Mom said she didn't feel very well; she's dizzy. It might be the peanut butter.
"You'll throw it away then, right?"
Another day passes, and the dizziness has gotten worse. "Yes, it must be that peanut butter." My brother reached into the cabinet and threw the peanut butter into the trash.
Mom looked at it with forlorn longing. We watched her ruminating between food waste and death.
She chose waste. Good old waste.