I Share Because I Care

This evening was pizza night chez WG. As you may know, Mr. WG doesn't eat dairy. Well, that's not quite true. Chocolate, ice cream -- these he eats. But milk, cheese, yogurt -- not only does he not eat these, but he goes ON AND ON about how disgusting they are and how they stink and he hates them and how can we eat it and why am I cooking it -- you get the picture.

Anyway. Pizza night. So, I made two pizzas for normal people (tomato sauce, garden-fresh basil, and cheese), and one smaller pizza for Mr. WG. Sometimes I make individual pizzas for everyone, and then mine can be full of things like avocado and red onion and pesto and stuff. But sometimes I am not enormously pregnant. So, whatever.

Mr. WG's pizza looked sad, with only tomato sauce and fresh basil. So I took some garden fresh peppers. But they are regular peppers, not spicy. But I had some weird peppers in my fridge, so I took those, too. And a small container with some diced jalapeno peppers from a jar, that Mr. WG says are not at all spicy. So I made him 3-pepper pizza.

Then I blew my nose. And .000003 seconds later, I discovered that the strange peppers in my fridge were GOING TO KILL ME.

Peeps, my nose was ON FIRE. So I went to the Internet and started looking up "Hot pepper in my nose" and variations on that theme. And then, to the great amusement of my family, I poured a glass of milk and stuck my nose in it for 10 minutes.

Once my nose was not burning anymore, I washed and scrubbed my hands for a while. And then, like half an hour later, I rubbed my eye. And apparently my handwashing was insufficient, because all of a sudden MY EYE WAS IN FLAMES.

So I refilled the glass of milk, soaked a washcloth, and held it to my poor eye, convinced I would lose my vision.

I seem to be surviving now. Barely.

And I am NEVER making Mr. WG his own pizza again.