Biggles

I have a story of my own, well, it’s actually the stry of a good friend of mine, but I was there. Want to hear it? (send the children away or be prepared to have to explain things you might prefer not to) Picture a hot summer afternoon, several people have gathered in one of their kitchens to prepare a mexican-themed meal in celebration of the return of one’s girlfriend. Slice, chop, mince, sizzle. We are prepping away madly when said girlfriend arrives. The guy who was entangled with her decides that there are plenty of us in the kitchen, he hasn’t seen her in a little while, and we’ve got some time before dinner. So they slip away to spend a little quality time upstairs.

Five minutes of Slice, chop, mince, sizzle pass and then the peace is torn by a scream of anguish. And I do mean scream of anquish, heavy on the anquish. We look at each other, and then a couple of us hit the stairs running to see WTF happened. As I hit the landing I can see the guy of the pair standing there with a somewhat confused look on his face; he points at the bathroom. I, being the only woman on scene, knock on the bathroom door. Through the muffled sobs, I am bade to enter. I do, to find my friend on her back in the bathtub, water pouring over certain tender body parts, gasping, “he…didn’t…wash…his…hands…after…the…jalapenos!”

So vapor in your eyes, not so bad. Really.

Gracianne — oh dear, I suppose that was a bit wicked of me, waiting three days. I meant to post earlier, honest. I’ve been busy cleaning my kitchen! I think gloves and a nice pair of shop goggles would probably do just fine. Or just don’t be as stupid as me and keep your fingers REALLY FAR AWAY from your face. Think of it as training for flu season.

Hey Alice, yup, you’ve definitely been there! Damn, now I have this urge to make more curry paste (with goggles on) just to experience that prolonged finger awareness again. The science geek in me would want to test contact with different substances and take notes. (Yeah, I’m that weird.)