If only I had a raging fire icon...
George made chili today. But alas, he was out of chili powder. So he dug out a bag of crushed chillies that had been given to us many years ago, opened it up, and added what he thought was a reasonable amount.
Talk about concentrated firepower! I barely got through a bowl, even using three large pieces of rye bread. And every mucous membrane north of my voicebox was in full flow within ten seconds of eating the first spoonful. (MInd you, I'm a real wimp when it comes to anything spicy. George ate his bowl without any trouble whatsoever, and claims he's made chili hotter many a time, just not in the course of our marriage.)
We ate sitting on the couch, watching Family Guy
. Emmie, as is her habit, came up to lie between us when we were finished eating. You know that little devil people sometimes have on their shoulders? Well, mine got the best of me: I dipped the tip of my right index finger into the sauce left at the bottom of my bowl -- maybe three drops total -- and offered it to her.
She yummed it right up and came looking for more. Apparently the heat that was so apparent to me didn't register for her, or she was able to ignore it. Strange indeed are the ways of kitty cats.
I'm going to put on a big pot of brown rice right now, so the next dose of chili I have will be poured over an adulterating medium. Yowza!
Oh, and here's my daily (make that weekly) dose of stupid
. Someone who admits they've only been studying Wicca for 8 months, and their primary reference is Silver Ravenwolf, is gung-ho to do interfaith outreach and "educate" Christians about what "true Wiccans" REALLY do. He's not taking kindly to people pointing out that his history sucks
and Craigslist is NOT the best place to presume to tell people about our religion
. He's made of so much fail, in fact, that my mind boggles.
Okay. Back to work.