Jeff and I always joke that the least sexy food you could bring into bed is crackers. Triscuits and nipples simply should not meet.
Everything bagels are dangerous, too: You try to have a nice breakfast in bed and the next thing you know you're wondering how a sesame seed ended up down there.
I once tried to burn off the head off a tick I believed to be wedged in my shin... turned out it was a poppy seed. True story.
Brownies present the same crumb problem, but they have the added bonus of bringing new meaning to the words "bed pan." "Honey, can you fetch me my bed pan... of Betty Crocker Chocolate Chunk?"
Whoever thought to bring hot soup to a sick bed is an asshole. You are already sick; you don't need a scalding chicken broth shot to the crotch as you attempt to lift your spoon with arms so weak and soft people might suspect your husband is raising you for veal.
Can you tell I'm writing this in bed right now? What you don't know is that I'm gnawing on a leg of lamb*. Ah, Saturday.
*Not really. It's actually a whole suckling pig.