My husband's salsa is frequently requested by our friends and family. Not just requested but demanded. My sister-in-law and niece even ask for it in advance of our visits together and my husband always makes an extra portion just for them.
I, on the other hand, don't like salsa. Never have. My husband is an excellent cook and very rarely disappoints my taste buds. And his salsa is freshly made with a combination of cilantro, jalapeno, tomatoes, and all those other ingredients that should be pleasing to me when combined in a blender.
But they're not. And I never understood why.
The other night, when we were involved in a little foreplay, it hit me as to why I don't like his salsa. Like a burning light bulb going off in my head. My loins were on fire and not in a good way. And it was a feeling that I was uncomfortably familiar with.
I turned to my husband, who had made a big batch of salsa that day, and asked him if he had worn protection when he was fooling around with the jalapeno. He sheepishly hung his head and said no. At which point, I got up and went downstairs to get some ice and a paper towel. The ice helped but the moment was gone.
My advice to those of you who like to be intimate with jalapeno handlers? Stock up on the latex. Our new house jalapeno rule: "No glove, no love."
Image via Photos by Mavis/Flickr