Spicy Buttle

N8r’s birthday was the best excuse to act like a 25 year old again.

Except 25 year-olds don’t typically go to bed by midnight.

Something that my newer friends don’t always know about me is that I will push the bounds of proper/publicly appropriate behavior in order to make others laugh. And by others, I often mean myself. I don’t think my friends last night were nearly as amused as I was by the hot sauce incident …

We golfed all day. I made my special Bloody Maries, AKA Ceasars, and the racist beverage cart girl was well-compensated for all the domestic cold ones. After a not-actually-out-of-character piss-poor front 9, I pretty much rage quit golf forever. I scored the best 9 of my life on the back. Golf can kiss my ass. I’ll be playing again next week I am sure …

We followed up golf with a quick viewing of Party Rock Anthem, then off we went for an impromptu Wings Crawl around Silver Spring. The first place, an Irish joint, had regular wings and “volcano” wings. The regular wings were spicy like a tomato. The Volcano wings, which I expected to actually be spewing forth molten hot sauce and sulphur, were instead the regular wings with a shaking of red pepper flakes on them. No faces were melted.

It was the spirit of this disappointment that lead to the good decision to order “These Will Kill You” style of wings at Quarry House. Pride comes before the fall.

A direct result of the many many beers I can’t say what lead me to keep eating the wings after the first one proved much spicier than I could handle. These were legit hot. Like habanero hot. Lips went from tingling to throbbing pain within a few minutes. My finger tips began to burn with a real heat. But lord, they were so good!

You know how they say you should wear goggles and gloves when cutting hot peppers? And they joke about washing your hands before using the bathroom? They should also include a provision about not dipping your fingers in hot sauce and then deliberately “gold bonding” yourself to make people laugh.

To be fair, it was really really funny (to me) for like 5 full minutes.

20 minutes later, I was in the bathroom at Quarry House, which is to date the very worst bathroom I have ever visited in my life. My entire body felt like it was on fire. I was drunk, and the sweat was so copious I looked like I had jumped into a pool. And I was starting to panic a bit. Somehow I convinced myself that if I could just pee, I would evacuate the hot from my body.

Yes, I recognize how logical that is.

Let me say this: when your hands are still covered in hot sauce oils, you should probably wash them two or even three times before attempting to pee. Or, if you’re me, you could also try washing them zero times.

When I finally returned to the table, I looked an absolute mess. I am sure my friends assumed I had been puking or explosion-pooping or planning a complex heist given how long I was gone. When one commented on how good I looked (something like “you look like you’re about to die), I simply whimpered words along the lines of “you don’t know how this feels.”

Remember those five minutes of laughter, that were almost entirely just me laughing about putting hot sauce on my junk?

Totally worth it.

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