girl, if you're wondering if i want you to, i want you to.

a couple weeks ago, i chili-ed my eye. enchilarse, as amelia would say. date night in eastie that night involved the making of delicious lemongrass chicken, and the recipe called for a chopped chili. i, being the good little sous chef i am (more like assistant chef that night), chopped my heart out. and when dinner was ready, it looked and smelled just as amazing as it was purported to (go team!). and then, just as i was about to dig into my meal, i rubbed my eye. with my chili cutting hand. and then all hell broke loose.

let me describe this pain to you: it's a cooling burning sensation, one where you know your body is on fire, but you don't need anyone to blow it out because it already feels like that's happening. that, and fire. on your eyeball. being suave, i tried to play it off. "haha. my eye is burning. let's eat!" the conversation continued for a good 15 seconds before i was up and running to the eye washing station (kitchen sink) and all but holding my head under the faucet, clearing dirty pots and pans out of the way. i'm calmly dousing my face with water, trying to get rid of the fire that is consuming half of my head, my attempt to make sure that my date night is not ruined by my idiocy reflected in the speed with which i douse. really, what's happening, is i'm panicking in my head, thinking that i'm ruining a perfectly good night with the fact that i will soon have to go to a hospital and explain how i chili-ed myself. because i didn't quite wash my hands well. and my eye was itchy. and i was on a date. we had just made dinner. that was now getting cold. dear god, i'm such a dork.

so, anyway, here i am at the eye washing station, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing the chili further into my eye, silently worrying about the date, verbally reassuring that i was fine and would sit down in just a minute and so what were we talking about again? and then, here she comes (oh god, no, sit down--i'm almost good). here she comes, walking up behind me. with saline solution in her hand. telling me to sit down so she can irrigate my eye. guiding me to a chair, asking me if i can hold my eye open. and when i tell her i can't, she still tries to help where and when she can, smiling at me, telling me that i'll be fine, that i'll be okay, that dinner can wait and everything will be okay once we get a hold of this chili problem in my eye.

and i giggle. i giggle so, so much. because the situation is ridiculous. because i chili-ed my eye. because i think of her kitchen sink as my eye washing station. because i know that she and i both know that we will laugh about this silliness the minute it's all over and fall into each others' arms and giggle. because we'll think about the time we made lemongrass chicken and she had to set up triage in her kitchen to save me from my clumsiness. and when i giggle, she giggles. and when my eye stops burning because she's been irrigating it, we sit down, we dinner, and we giggle about the first of many ridiculous adventures we are going to have.