Anonymous Gifting

When a surprise package of boots shows up at your house, the natural reaction is glee mixed with suspicion. The mystery of the gifted boots. They feel so new, is someone trying to glam me up? Maybe it's the neighbors and they're tired of my tired style. Maybe it's your parents who are (im)patiently waiting grandbabies and acting this out through rampant internet purchases. OR maybe, you've been spending too much time staring at the internet to realize that your fingers are clicking their way to new boots for your feet. However this is resolved, the mystery of gifts in the mail is always, and I do mean always, a welcome one chez moi.

Last night I went rustic and ate some cactus. The electricity to the gas stove is out. The igniter does not work nor does the exhaust fan. This is problematic when you have roommates who like to make their own salsas out of hot chiles that when cooked create a sort of pepper-spray-like effect in the kitchen. The upside is that it tastes delicious. Deliciously burning your mouth so good that don't even realize tears are streaming down your face into your food. This is explicitly, not a lesson in how to avoid excess salt in your food. No, this is a lesson, or rather a confession, in capsicum addiction.

Kate is crafting us a new salsa container because our current one is underdeveloped. She took measurements the other night but swiftly noted that any salsa dish she creates for us will most likely be too small too soon. We have a habit of buying most anything that says hot, habanero, fire, 'can also be used as an excellent industrial cleaner'...you get the idea. We crazy. We addicted. I don't want no rehab. I just want those pouty lips that are so hott right now. Pouty eyes that are burning from capsicum coated fingers are an entirely different story. Nothing glamorous about chileye.