Well, I provided an opportunity for her to take revenge just before our trip to Boston – in fact, on the day before we flew out. For a few weeks I had been planning to harvest some of the chillis that we’ve grown in our greenhouse and preserve them. The method of preservation is to de-seed them, chop them ready for use and store each fruit in a little jar filled with olive oil. It’s a tried and tested method.
Now I know that chopping chillis can cause irritation to your hands and any part of your body that your hands come into contact with; so being smart and anticipating this consequence I used my trusty method of self-preservation. I rubbed my hands with oil before I started to chop, thus providing a barrier between the jaggy chemical stuff and my delicate hands.
I then set about chopping and storing chillis for about an hour, and a nice wee pile of jars were ready for future use. I wouldn’t usually chop chillis for this long, and there was a slight stinging effect, but nothing too serious. (Astute readers will probably be anticipating a twist in the tale coming up.)
Being in a helpful mood I cajoled Dolly D to help with some washing up – I washed, she dried. This is where things went a bit pear-shaped. By immersing my hands in hot water I removed any remaining barrier, opened the pores in my hands and let all the chilli juice in. The pain was intense, and it only got worse as I tried various remedies. I had planned an early night since we were leaving early to catch our flight. Instead I spent a sleepless night as my hands burned and stung.
Inevitably, Dolly D had some advice for the occasion – “Dad, you should’ve anticipated the consequences”. For once she was right!