Take Me Somewhere Else
I don’t feed Tim spicy foods. He doesn’t like it. Nothing with mayonnaise, cheese, or mustard either. He just won’t eat it. In fact, one day I plan on taking a picture of the face he makes when I tell him I’m making a peanut butter, mayo, and pickle sandwich. But spicy foods are a no-go in the House O’ Chuck.
While we’re at the hotel (this is our last night of captivity! WOot!) we have no comforts of home. I usually cook food, he puts it in containers so that he can stick it in the microwave any time he wants it. But here at the hotel I have to go out and buy fast food. Which is weird because we just don’t do fast food.
I happened to go to the grocery store just a block away and bought fried chicken. Tim loves fried chicken. He’ll eat some now, some later, and throw some to the dogs. I was in a hurry when I bought the chicken and thought the word “Hot” on the package meant the chicken wasn’t cold. Nice! He won’t have to microwave it and I’ll eat my sandwich and all will be well with the world.
I got it to the room and the smell of fried chicken instantly replaced the smell of “hotel”. Tim broke the package open, sat down at the hotel room desk and began his feast. He took two bites and breathed fire. I thought he might have to let it cool down. But nope. It was because the chicken was spicy. All 12 pieces of it.
He was a trooper. He got through most of the chicken. He made sure he cursed me for my lack of purchasing acumen. That was in between bites of the chicken, gulping iced tea, and breathing out of his mouth like someone does when they’re trying to cool off boiling hot coffee after they’ve swallowed it. He also pointed out (just five minutes ago) that the word “SPICY” was clearly underlined with a red marker. Oh, yeah. Huh. I’m not the kind of partner who tries to kill my mate with poison. Poison gets pricey. No…I kill my mate with spicy foods. And apparently I’m really good at it. At least for today.
We won’t remind him that what goes in must come out. We’ll save that for tomorrow.