This evening, I went out for Thai food with some friends and I inadvertently ate this pepper that I think was meant to be a garnish. I don't know what kind of pepper it was, other than a horrible, evil, nasty pepper---probably not its proper scientific name---but I actually thought I was going to die. For the ten longest minutes of my life, I was that stereotypical scarf-clad girl---hitherto seen only in third-rate romantic comedies starring Drew Barrymore---who sits in an ethnic restaurant with her eyes bug-wide, one hand on her throat and the other on her water glass, frantically trying to remain calm and not make a scene even though IT BURNS IT BURNS OH GOD IT BURNS HELP ME I'M DYING I HOPE I WORE MATCHING UNDERGARMENTS FOR WHEN THEY TAKE ME TO THE MORGUE.
Now, Internet, it's not like I've never eaten Thai food before, my goodness. I'm well-versed in spicy cuisine, I swear. But there's nothing more crushing to the ego than demonstrating, publicly, that you're actually not able to handle that giant forkful you've just put in your mouth, am I right? And so I tried to remain engaged in the conversation---nodding, smiling, taking a suspicious number of sips from both my glass of water and my beer, practicing the sort of breathing I only thought I'd ever have to do in labor---while simultaneously being stabbed from within by tiny pitchforks doused in gasoline and set on fire by the four horsemen of the apocalypse on an absinthe binge.
After a while, my eyes must have rolled back in my head a little, or maybe I actually passed out from the pain and hit the floor, I don't know, but Sean was all "hey, are you okay?" and I was all "PEPPER....PEPPER..." and he was all "you want some pepper?" and I was all "No, I ate one. I ate a pepper. I'm dying. In fact, I'm afraid I can't even see you. My vision has actually blurred. Before the paramedics get here, can you just make sure that I'm wearing matching undergarments for when they take me to the morgue? Also, sell my hot pink Kitchenaid mixer on ebay when I'm gone. But make sure you set a really high reserve."
And he was all "Uh, just eat some rice. You'll be fine."
Obviously I was fine, Internet---you're not getting my hot pink Kitchenaid mixer that easily, you scheming minxes!---but my god, it was touch and go there for a while. There really is no point to this post, except perhaps to serve as a PSA to not eat any peppers you cannot identify by name---I can only identify one: the innocuous bell pepper! So that'll be easy!---which I guess means I should probably stop writing this now, but before I do, please assure me that I'm not the only one this has happened to. Otherwise my friends are only going to agree to eat with me in public at restaurants that specialize entirely in rice pudding and saltines. Nobody ever had a near-death experience eating rice pudding and saltines. Unfortunately, no restaurants specialize entirely in them either.