If your mind went straight to the gutter… well so did mine but this is my story so I don’t count.
I can’t deny that when I first read the word prompt, I thought it said ballsy (it’s actually brassy). Similar, no? Well they have the same meaning! The American language I swear…
This story is not in the gutter I promise!
Do you like spicy food? If so, you’ll love this story.
My husband works for a well known company with a lot of, mostly men, with diverse backgrounds. One day, one such friend was telling him a story about his pepper garden. He grew all kinds of hot, chili peppers. The guy told him about his setup — you know placement of peppers, care needs and jarring process for the winter. He then proceeded to to ask my husband if he had ever tried any of these peppers. Some, yes. Some, no.
I want to let you dear readers know that there is a such thing as a hotness scale. It’s called the Scoville scale. It basically measures how hot something is before it burns the tastebuds off your tongue; at least that’s how I’m dubbing it. Why people subject themselves to this kind of torture, I have no idea.
Anyway, one of the peppers he grew in his garden was the habenero. On the Scoville scale, this is rated as 200,000-350,000 heat units. The 5th hottest pepper! The hottest pepper, in heat units, is pure Capsaician with a ridiculous 15 million Scoville heat unit rating.
So this friend gives my husband two to take home and tells him to cook them up with spaghetti sauce or something to get a taste for the heat. A little goes a long way.
Remember that I said this.
I’m shown these peppers when he gets home.
This is right before the fun started. He got this idea into his head that instead of cooking them in a sauce, we should just try them the way they are. They’re tiny so they can’t be that bad right? Me, being the logical woman (keyword woman) that I am, I’m game for this test! So he has one and I have one. I take a tiny little bite. Like right off the tip! Trust me when I say its hot. I was able to tolerate it but I definitely doused my mouth with lots of water (because milk is disgusting) and some bread.
My husband sees my reaction and figures, it can’t be that bad. I try to tell him that what he’s about to do is probably not a good idea. “I’ll be fine.” Yeah, okay Hercules. So you know what he does? He decides to bite half of it. HALF. OF. IT! At first, nothing happened and I thought, okay maybe he can handle this. I mean we’ve been to Quaker Steak and Lube and were able to handle their triple hot wings just fine, especially him.
He RUNS to the bathroom and sticks his head under the sink. He then orders me to go to the kitchen to get the whole gallon of milk and the whole loaf of bread. I’m definitely in tears at this point — tears of joy and laughter! I could not stop laughing! He’s over the toilet drowning in a gallon of milk and trying to sponge the heat out of his mouth with a loaf of bread. We were living with his mom at the time and she comes running like, “What’s going on??? Are you OK???” And I can’t even speak cause I’m just sitting and laughing my ass off. In hindsight, I should have recorded it!
It probably took about an hour or so for him to be able to not breathe like dragon at which point the woman (pointing at me here) says, “That’s what you get.”
So you see, the moral of this story is size doesn’t matter matter cause tiny things can punch you in the face and make you cry. Also, when touching hot things, don’t touch your face, you know around the eye area, with said hot stained fingers. You’ll thank me later.