WE RAN OUT OF WATER! We ran out of water as a car load of girls rocked up for a camp over. We ran out of water as Mr and Mrs Groovy dropped in for booze and cheese. We ran out of water as Mr and Mrs Red drove in on their way home from camping begging for a shower. We ran out of water full stop. There was not one drop left in the tank. What a disaster!
To ward off a full crazed panic attack I busied myself by preparing food for the hordes. I forgot, as I cut my freshly picked jalapenos, that the cucumbers growing next to them had caused an ungodly rash all over my hands a few days before. So I sliced and diced and didn’t realize anything untoward was happening until Mrs Red, upon eating a tomato that had been sitting next to a jalapeno, cried out that her mouth was burning.
Mr Red, who revels in all things hot, chewed on a slice and congratulated me on growing such extraordinarily hot peppers. Mrs Red gasped for breath beside him. Then her eyes bulged as she saw my hands. They were a curious, bright red. Suddenly they were on fire. My hands were burning. I was in hell and there was not a drop of water to wash away the pain. The only water left was in the loo and there was no way I was going there.
I scrambled to the freezer but the ice blocks were utterly useless. They melted as soon as they touched my skin. Poor Mrs Red sucked noisily on one but there was no relief. I bathed my hands in milk, she drank the milk. I rubbed my hands in yogurt, she ate the yogurt. She was saved, I was not. I scrubbed my hands with soap and a brillo pad but still they burnt. The loo was beginning to look like the only solution.
“The dam,” Mr Groovy suggested. “Take a dip in the dam.” Now that would have been a decent option had Will not discovered eels swimming there that very morning. My thoughts returned longingly to the unflushed water at the bottom of the toilet bowl.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mrs Groovy said. “And if you dare go there I will have to friend divorce you,” she said rubbing paw paw into my hands. Sweet relief ….. for five…… delicious…… seconds.
“I need to go to the hospital,” I whimpered miserably, waving my hands around trying to cool them.
“Oh Kooks honestly,” Mrs Groovy said pouring me a bucket load of vodka. “Drink this and stop complaining. It will numb the pain.”
And I did and it did. No more burning hands and who cared if we didn’t have water, we had vodka and that’s all that mattered.
I would offer you a word of advice, to wear gloves when dealing with jalapenos, especially with cracked skin, but you probably know that already. Or if you don’t, and you’re a fool like me, please don’t be afraid to share. My hands need a laugh.