Long story short, I'd bought a deli chicken for tea. I'd had a really busy day and haven't had anything to eat yet. We got home and I nipped next door to collect a package they'd accepted while we were out.
By the time I got in, DH had opened the chicken and had his mitts in it. I said "have you washed your hands?" He initially tried to say he had earlier, but admitted shortly after that he hadn't washed them since he got in. Bleurgh, bleurgh and bleurgh again.
He KNOWS I'm funny about hand washing, he knows I'm even funnier about hand washing and food. I accept this is a me thing, but I say I now can't eat the chicken.
As far as I'm concerned, it's contaminated. It's germ infested chicken now. He gets mildly miffed with me refusing to eat the shit chicken, this is more because he feels bad about (as far as I'm concerned) smearing poo on food and expecting me to eat it.
I'm moderately precious about what I eat anyway, having recently lost a not insignificant amount of weight. I was looking forward to this chicken. It was part of a cheat meal, I really wanted some chicken skin.
AIBU?
(I'm writing this and realising that I'm clearly having a bit of an OCD flare up.)