Lo knows

So it is Friday night and I should be downstairs cooking dinner but instead, I am standing in the shower naked, with my genitals in a plastic coffee mug filled with ice cold milk. You may ask why on earth I would be doing such a thing. It is simple; I broke one of the fundamental rules of the kitchen and I motherfucking paid.

There are rules to working in the kitchen, some live or die and others just suggestions that will keep you from unnecessarily hurting yourself. Here are but a few:
1. Don’t try to catch a falling knife.
2. Don’t put water on a grease fire.
3. Never work a blade towards yourself.
4. Wash your hands thoroughly when moving from one ingredient to another.

It was the last one that got me. I was making fish tacos with cabbage, pico de gallo, and habanero cilantro cream sauce. I had the fish marinating, the cabbage shredded and the pico resting on the counter so I turned my attention to the pepper sauce. Into a bowl I threw a bit of mayo, some sour cream, cilantro, lime juice, a couple of pinches of Lo’s spice rub, and some habanero I had just diced. At that moment, I felt the urge to relieve myself so I washed my hands, took care of business, and went outside to light the grill.

It was while I was watching the lighter fluid burn off the coals that I felt the first twinges of fire on my Johnson. At first, I stupidly ignored the reaction, unaware of the full-on assault that awaited me. And then the torrent came, like the fury of a thousand suns. No other way to put it, my junk was on fire. I had not washed my hands thoroughly after I had cut up the peppers and now I WAS GOING TO PAY.

When the devil burn came, I explained to Lo my situation and that I HAD TO SHOWER RIGHT NOW. While ignoring her laughter, I ran upstairs, stripped down, and hopped into the shower. I had hoped that soap would cut the capsaicin enough to prevent the approaching firestorm. Alas, I was wrong.

The cold water helped at first but the warm water kicked in soon enough and then the real pain began. Let me just say that it felt as though my entire package had been dropped into a bubbling cauldron of fire, a veritable Szechuan hot pot for my crotch. It was agony and I knew not what to do. After several minutes in the shower, switching for cold water to cool the burn and warm to stop my shivering, I was at the end of my rope. It was then that Lo poked her head in and asked if I wanted a cup of milk. I had no other ideas so yes, please. She returned quickly and in a rather undignified manner, I crammed my whole business into this Holy Grail of pain relief.

It worked. Let me just say that there is a reason people do not plunge their peckers into vats of freezing milk for fun. It was colder than Joan Crawford in Mommy Dearest but as the minutes rolled on and the lactic acid dissolved the flaming oil, I said a prayer, thankful that I have wife so wise as to suggest the appropriate remedy and also understanding enough to provide it.

Therefore I must say I love you dearly darling and thank you from the bottom of my heart (and elsewhere). You are the best.