At Friendly’s for dinner this evening and I decided on the chicken tenders – with Buffalo sauce.
Now, I’m not normally one for sauce – largely because of this PSA that hit me at a very impressionable age.
As I’ve gotten older, my tastes have changed and I like a little extra kick to my food. Hence the Buffalo sauce. (Oh, and don’t get me started on Wasabi.)
The sauce was on the side in a little container and I started my meal by dunking a french fry. And it was good. So, I dunked again and got a little bit more.
And then inhaled at exactly the wrong moment and a blast of Buffalo sauce rocketed up into my sinuses.
And my brain caught fire. Literally, as it turns out – if we’re talking about a chemical burn.
Once I recovered, I went after more. And more. Plowing through my fries, I was a man on a mission.
A man, possessed.
It occurred to me that the initial pain might have released a flood of endorphins and that I might have gotten high off of the pain of the Buffalo sauce.
I explained this to Jim as I continued to shove Buffalo laden french fries in my face.
He sighed, then politely said, “Sometimes you’re more strange than other times,”
… guess I can’t really argue with that.
I finished off the fries and the chicken. And now, much later in the evening, I’m not feeling that great. Just a well that didn’t make good on my threat to drink the last of the sauce.
I think I need a Tums.