last night chuck watched me chop up a chipotle pepper in adobo sauce with a very skeptical eye. it was like he was a puppy i was trying to push down a wet slide.
he was having flashbacks to the time i made chili a year or so ago. while his tongue exploded into a fireworks display, and later his stomach gurgled like a volcano, i coolly ate the chunky mess. my tongue is dead from years of taste bud genocide one camel lite at a time. but just because a tongue doesn't register spicy doesn't mean the rest of my body is immune.
i woke chuck with my screaming. i was laying on the floor writhing in pain, contorting my body into variations of the fetal position and pleading for an exorcism.
last night was a new recipe, a new day, and i cut the call for chipotle peppers in half.
chuck: last time you made something with these peppers, i thought i was going to have to take you to the emergency room. you put too many peppers in because you have a dead tongue.
me: unfortunately my colon doesn't smoke.
chuck: it did that night.