Yeah, you've all had it at one time. Here you are in the kitchen (or garage in my case), whipping up a new batch of hot sauce without gloves. Your friend,wife,husband,buddy,pal says "Oh, you should wear gloves" but you ignore the advice citing your manlyness or womanlyness. An hour passes without incident, the sauce is finished and hands washed but that's when it strikes. The slowly building burning which turns into a pain from the depths of hell. The kind of burn cured only by alcohol and patience.
Today was my turn, the ride began with a testament of manlyness, cutting habaneros and datils effortlessly but I decided to kick it up a notch, I went straight to the top: Trinidad Scorpions, Indian Carbons, Bih Jolokias, Chocolate Bhuts. They came riding like the Four Horsemen, destroying all in their path.
Four hours later I am still twitching in pain, typing this is near agony...I put milk on my hands but it just boils away.
Today was my turn, the ride began with a testament of manlyness, cutting habaneros and datils effortlessly but I decided to kick it up a notch, I went straight to the top: Trinidad Scorpions, Indian Carbons, Bih Jolokias, Chocolate Bhuts. They came riding like the Four Horsemen, destroying all in their path.
Four hours later I am still twitching in pain, typing this is near agony...I put milk on my hands but it just boils away.
