I am an unfailingly creative, dedicated cook, so every week I try to make a meal out of tortilla chips and fat. Recently I used a new brand of chips. Their particular flavor was mendaciously named “Hint of Lime.”
Have you ever obsessively eaten something, because you are so appalled by the flavor you can’t believe it’s as bad as your taste buds are swearing? A hint of lime? Oh no, no! These chips were plunged against their will into a boiling vat of lime oil. Doused in lime juice at the tortilla chip prom in front of all their corn chip classmates. Persecuted by hints of lime for days, maybe weeks.
I vowed not to use them for our nacho meal, but some snuck in with the regular chips, and so help me, I don’t know how it happened. All I do know is my husband was asking in horror, “Did you use the lime chips for our nachos?”
I wrung my hands and cried, “What? No! I don’t think….”
Maybe the atrocious flavoring was like the blood on Lady Macbeth’s hands, and I had ruined our meal with my contaminated fingers. But the flavor was there. The smell was there.
After a few minutes of tense eating, I said, “It’s so bad that you’re just grateful when you put a nacho in your mouth, and there’s no hint of lime.”
“I know, right?” said my Man, swigging beer. “I just had a plain one, and I was so relieved.”
Honestly, how we were able to survive that meal, I really don’t know. As I was clearing the dishes, I said, “I’m going to have to toss the bag. I can’t eat those. Nobody should eat those. In fact, they’re so bad they could be used as a CIA torture device.”
Inspired by this appropriate imagery, I began to describe a dark room, a single bright lamp trained on the face of a man with his hands tied behind his back. On the rough table before him, a bag of Hint of Lime chips is slammed down by men from the shadows. Then the threats start.
At this point in my plot-weaving, my husband broke in with abundant gagging noises, playing the part of the prisoner. Then he switched roles abruptly, pointing a menacing finger and declaring, “And that was just one chip! Next time it’s going to be TWO!”
I fell over the dining room table in a fit of hysterics. My man thought I was suffering delirium caused by exposure to unnatural flavoring. It may very well be true. Effects of lime poisoning have never properly been tested.
About the Writer
Hillary is a mother and writer seeking balance, something she finds only in a good beer. She threatens to sell her kids to the zoo at least three times a day, goes the extra mile by talking to trees after embracing them, and really wants to run away with the circus. In 9th grade she was voted most likely to succeed, but so far she only excels at being weird. Find Hillary at her personal blog No Pens, Pencils, Knives or Scissors! or stalk her (pleease) on Facebook.