Busted

You know when you’re alone, and you make a face or react to something, and you don’t censor your muscles or reaction or words, because nobody can see you?

The other night, I was making chili for dinner. It’s been freaking cold, and it sounded like a great, quick meal. James was in the living room, on the couch, and just barely in my line of sight when I was standing at the stove. The television was on, and we’d finished our conversation. I pulled the chili seasoning packets out of the pantry – there was a small amount of “HOT” powder left, and a plenty of “Medium-Hot” in another package. (By-the-by, we get a lot of spices and seasonings from Penzeys over in old Overland Park – it’s a cook’s mecca!) I put the remainder of the Hot powder in the pot, and then started to shake out some more of the Med-Hot.

That’s when it happened. The bobble. The lurch. The shifting weight, while negligible, threw me, and suddenly I found myself dumping in a quite goodly amount of the chili powder. I felt my face contort into a “WHOA WHOOPS OH FUCK” and simultaneously,  my brain was thinking, “JWo isn’t seeing this, just don’t say anything, carry on, get control of the bag.”

Then I hear, from the living room, “That’s not a good face!”

Whups. Busted. Not that it wouldn’t have become apparent once the meal was served! It was some damned spicy chili, but I will say, those Penzeys people make a helluva spice – the depth and robustness of the peppers gives it a huge full flavor, they don’t rely on just straight hot peppers to flame it up. So it could have been a lot worse. But we had bellies o’ fire and relied on the oyster crackers a little more than usual!