I was recently asked to tell an embarrassing story.
This is the story –
Two years ago, the girlfriend at the time and I decided to have a home-cooked meal for our “date night.” We planned it all. We were going to make homemade Vietnamese pho and simply catch up on the lives we were leading.
Couple things. Couple goals. Relationship goals.
All those hashtags.
By the way this wasn’t some gentrified Asian-Fusion pho we (she) made. This was some high-quality dish where her ancestors would’ve been proud.
The table was set. The bowls of pho were placed on the living room table. Vietnamese spoons and chopsticks in hand. Mint, bean sprouts, lime, and hoisin sauce on the side. We were ready to eat.
But then I remembered something quite essential missing from this meal…
Me: Do you have your father’s peppers?
Her: I think they’re in the freezer
Let me give you a quick backstory on who I am as a person. I love to add spice to every single dish I eat. I’m not talking about that fake disgusting sriracha sauce. I’m talking about the good stuff: fresh paper flakes, stirred up chili sauce, jalapeños off the shelf of a supermarket, wasabi, and the list goes on…
My body is fire, so much so that during the winter I’ll lift up my shirt so family, friends, and cute people have an opportunity to touch my body to stay warm. Yes, I maybe skinny, but my warmth adds for a wonderful cuddle on those cold nights.
To continue before I lose track…
I love spice and I ESPECIALLY love to add spice when eating Vietnamese pho. Luckily, the girlfriend’s father grew the best tiny peppers I’ve ever had in my entire life.
These peppers have made men over 6ft 5, cry.
These peppers have made my closest friends lose their sense of taste for days.
These peppers have made pagans turn into priests –
Okay, that’s a little too far.
But you get the idea.
THESE THINGS ARE HOT!
I LOVED THEM!
So I hopped to the kitchen…
Me: Wait, where are they again?
Her: In the freezer!
Me: Oh I found them –
The holy grail.
God seriously came down from the heavens of the earth to grow these delicate homegrown Vietnamese peppers and laid them in the freezer for me to grab by my hands. They were frozen though… so my next thought –
*deet* *deet* 30 seconds.
My hands rubbed together like an anxious 7 year old about to receive his first holy communion.
COME ON PEPPERS HEAT UP FOR MY MOUTH!
*DEET* *DEET* *DEET*
I opened up the MICROWAVE
THE FUCKING FUMES OF THE FROZEN TO UNFROZEN PEPPERS PUNCHED INTO MY EYES!!!
I FELL BACK
ME: OH FUCK! OH GOD *COUGHS* OH MY GOD *COUGHS*
Her: What’s going on over THERE?!?
ME: IT BURNS!!! DO YOU HAVE ANY MILK??!? *SEMI-HURL*
I NEED MILK *COUGHS*
She finally runs into the kitchen…
Her: Oh. My…
ME: *COUGHS* *COUGHS* IM GOING TO BE Ohhhka – *COUGHS* PLEASE GURLLLL DO YOU HAVE MILK??!?
Her: In the frige!
She opens the refrigerator –
I dive in pushing apples, bread, juice aside, and then I see it… it’s white.
Through the blur of the wildfire spreading on my face I see the carton flash the words
I grab it and start chugging
�Something doesn’t seem right…
ME: *COUGHS* what the? This tastes so weird…
She looks at the carton
Her: OH! That is EXPIRED!
ME: WHAAA *COUGHS* WHAT?
Her: It’s for a cooking RECIPE!
I puke all over myself
I push her to the left and then strike the counter to her right
HONEY GOD *COUGHS* GET OUT OF THE WAY
I run through her living room
I spot the bathroom
I see the toilet, but I have no time with my blurry vision to see if I can make whatever is coming out of my mouth into the tiny little hole of a thing… so
INTO THE SHOWER
I get my body into the shower… clothes and all!
I turn on the shower head and let the cold water baptize me from head to toe.
My eyes are burning.
I smell like puke.
My clothes are no longer clothes.
She creeps her head into the bathroom…
Her: You okay there?
I could sense a little smile form on her cute face…
I turn my head at her.
She looks at me.
Me: Are you smiling? I can’t see. But are you smiling?
I’m so sorry about the puke
Her: It’s okay. *laughs*
Me: *laughs* Oh. Date night.
A date night to remember –
Thanks for listening.