Delima Kasih

Aargh! Chili in my eye! Chili in my eye!

Don't you just hate it when it happens?
You're minding your own business, with a friendly plate of fry kwayteow in front of you. You're about to tuck into this wonderfully bad piece of makan because you've been good this week. Extra calories? No sweat. So, chopsticks in hand and temptingly slick noodles on their way from plate to mouth, you lean over to help the kwayteow: shorten their journey mah....

Then, with a contemptuously malicious little flick, a chili-soaked piece of noodle makes a break for freedom. There's oil flying everywhere. Chili-flavoured oil.

You know the sensation. It's a stinging fire that flares up every time you try to open your eye. So, half-blind, awash with tears and reeling from the shock, you try to find some dignified way out of this.

For about two seconds.

Two seconds is how long it takes for survival instinct to kick in. Then you'll go for your sleeve, your wrist, anything that might be a good place to wipe away the remains of your eye, which feels like it's melting down the side of your face.

And you'll swear, never again: 'no more chili for me.' That's what happened to me two weeks ago, but such is the attraction of chili that I went back the next day.

A brief thought to finish: Is it just me or do right-handed people get chilli-ed in their right eyes and southpaws/sinistrals end up with fire in their left eyes? That thought briefly crossed my mind while I was bawling my eyes out and speaking in tongues. Thank goodness there weren't any religious people around.

posted by plink @ 6:16 am