Being Erika

If you are new to this blog, welcome to the life of thirty-something Erika Amonett, a girl who lives in a fantasy world of blissful seascapes and pina coladas and the pesky reality world of choices and consequences.

Last night I made a choice. Not a big choice, but a choice nonetheless. I chose to cut up some green colored peppers from my neighbor's garden. I washed and dried the assortment of pretty green peppers and began cutting them in thin strips being careful to remove all the seeds. I took a bite from a long, skinny one. Oooh, a zing to the tongue, but not bad. Wow...that is getting a little intense...where is my drink? After guzzling 20 ounces of water, (I know, water is no bueno for burns), I went back to my work. My tongue had eased up on the fire alerts to my brain, but now the insides of my cheeks were feeling a little raw. I have been struggling with my non-canker sores, (I call them this because no doctor has been able to accurately categorize the little monsters) so I attributed the extra irritation to my non-canker friends being inflamed. All of a sudden, my lips started burning. Not the wow, that chili is hot kind of burning, but the oh my goodness, I am being burned at the stake kind of burning. Not pleasant, my friends. Not pleasant at all. Then the skin around my mouth joined in the fun. I thought my face would detach itself from my body and run away screaming.

Not wanting to be overly dramatic, my mind calmly raced through the possible plans of action that would swiftly soothe my fire-engulfed skin.

I washed. I washed and washed and washed. Lots of antibacterial soap. Pomegranate and melon. My hands and face smelled good enough to eat. Still burning. Help!

Milk! I need milk! I grabbed the last scoop of cake batter cookie dough ice cream from the freezer and smeared it all over my face. More burning...intense burning...no relief. Try not to yell at Cameron who will not stop talking and is only concerned about getting ready for the first day of school. Can't he see I am in agony?! I don't care about rounding up your folders. Shut up before I make you eat a pepper!

I run to my bathroom and stick my entire face under the sink and allow the mini stream of cold water to flush my face like the falls of Niagara. Ahh, relief. Scratch that. Ten seconds later the inferno returns. Damn that pepper! Make it stop burning!

I have now decended into the seventh layer of hell. Hall closet. What do we got? Ocean Potion Burn Relief gel. Sounds good. I rub the sticky blue gel all over my face and grab Avon's Moisture Therapy lip gel for my charred little buddies. Arrrg! Is there no redemption?

Aloe...let's get aloe. Dang. I gave my pure aloe to my friend for her sunburn...but I've got aloe oil. Worth a try. Yikes! Ay, caramba, mi amor! I am now speaking in tongues from the pain.

Where is Dr. Tom?! I need him to transport me back in time so I can fix my mistake and change my current reality. (A little shout out to my make-believe friend, Erica Strange, lead character in Soapnet's new drama Being Erica.)

I lay on my bed wringing my hands and trying not to cry. I realize that Dr. Tom is not coming, yet I have the privilege of Dr. Zaus hovering over me telling me that I do not look like I am having an allergic reaction to the pepper. I don't even look red. Thank you, Dr. Zaus, for your expert opinion.

Crap. Guess I'll have to lay here until it passes. Dr. Zaus leaves me to my suffering. After consuming a little ice cream to calm my troubled soul, I sat upright on my bed scanning the room for the cable remote. DVD remote...check. TV remote...check. Cable remote...no check. Our resident sticky fingered two-year old most likely absconded with it. The tele was tuned into a TBS rerun of Sex in the City. Hmmm...kinda trashy even for edited t.v. Is that really how people in the Big Apple are? No gracias. I don't remember much else after an awkward scene between Carrie, Big, and Natasha so I must have drifted off for a bit. A few short hours later I was rudely awakened by a searing pain in the palms of my hands. Holy Snikies! That was the end of my sleep and my night. Twelve hours later, my face feels much better but my hands are still suffering the effects of pepper juice.

And there you have it, friends. Sometimes even the best of intentions turn out to be a kick in the pants...or face in my case. God bless the produce fairy who benevolently shared her beautiful peppers with me, yet I must admit I have learned a very important lesson. All peppers are not created equal; furthermore, what may not seem hot to one is a raging purgalicious inferno to another. I do appreciate the kind advice from friends and family to help ease my misery and alleviate my suffering. However, word to the wise, watch out for those cute little peppered spawns of Satan. Momma got burned. Learn from my history. Invest in a good pair of kitchen gloves...and whatever you do, do not touch your face!