An unfortunate encounter with a capsicum

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It was as we were passing the tissues and the paper towel in Aldi that I became aware of the huge prickle that had planted itself in my back pocket. Sadly, this was also a no-underpants day, meaning that every barb of that prickle was currently trying to make a home for itself within my right bum cheek.

I dealt with the prickle by first checking my bum cheek, and then performing a remarkable physical contortion which saw me fold backwards in an attempt to get my main fingers clasped firmly around the prickle, so that I could remove it from my arse and my pocket with speed and dexterity.

What can I say. I’m a “yank off the bandaid” person. No gentle coaxing. Just yank, and consider consequences later.

Which brings me to my unfortunate encounter with a capsicum.

It was fucking hot a balmy summer evening, and my beloved was cremating cooking on the bbq. I was inside making a salad, using a selection of veges from the garden. Tomatoes in a variety of colours (yes I know they are technically a fruit); celery that had morphed into a peculiar cylindrical shape; and mini capsicum.

Yum.

I was reaching the end phase of salad preparation – that time when you think you’ve finally cut everything and then discover that a carrot has rolled under out of sight. Only it was one of the mini capsicum that my beloved had grown. I grabbed the one we had picked a day ago so that I could chop that up, too. Plucked out the seeds, rinsed, chop chop chop.

Didn’t get a hit of that awesome capsicum aroma.

So I did what anyone would do: I shoved a piece into my mouth.

I learned a lesson.

This is a red mini capsicum:

https://i1.wp.com/www.naturespride.eu/typo3temp/pics/a1058cd581.jpg

This is NOT a red mini capsicum:

https://i1.wp.com/www.in.all.biz/img/in/catalog/314202.jpeg

Similar, yes.

But oh so fucking different.

For example: Red baby capsicum usually do not cause me to glug glass after glass of milk. They don’t tend to make me swear and cry, or cause tears to flow from my eyes. It’s rare that a red baby capsicum would leave my every orifice clenched in fear, or that they’d leave me with a red burn mustache, or that I would be left wondering why it is that God hates me.

Do you want to know what usually will cause that kind of reaction?

Red chillies. 

Really hot ones.

THE KIND MY BELOVED IS GROWING, THAT TOTALLY ARE NOT RED BABY CAPSICUM!

 

Then I wiped my face.

IT BURNS IT BURNS IT BURNS!!!  Again!!! As I tried to shove my head under the kitchen tap, I recalled every seed I had carefully plucked from the capsicum. The vigorous cleaning of the capsicum. The careful rinsing, assisted by my servant hands.

As far as I am concerned, we are eating dirty vegetables.

It was around this time my beloved came into the kitchen, and asked about onions. Wanting to know if I had cut any.

I have a hunch that the look I gave her could have cut several onions quite easily.

She scampered back to the bbq after assuring me of her certainty as to the capsicum nature of the plant.

I didn’t believe her.

I sweated my way through dinner, when it occurred to me: I had to take my contact lenses out at some point.

This was going to be a long, long night.

What is your tip for getting chilli off your fingers? Because my nose may or may not be somewhat tingly at the moment.

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