Don’t Need Any Old Spice

(My dad’s new wife loves spicy food, and I don’t, since it gives me a painful rash. I’ve told her this, and she just clucks. She cooks up a stew for us and it smells great. There’s a spicy smell but I figure that it’s coming from hers and Dad’s dishes, since they like it. Lo and behold, one bite and I’m panting and whimpering, and my lips and mouth hurt.)

Dad: “Why did you put hot sauce in [My Name]’s dish? She’s told you she doesn’t like it.”

Stepmom: “I only put a little of my homemade hot sauce.”

Dad: “Your homemade hot sauce? It’s poison!”

(He doesn’t mean literally poison; it’s just an expression he uses to say it’s really spicy.)

Stepmom: “Meh. She’ll have to get used to it! Spicy foods are good for the soul. It helps the circulation, too.”

(Since then, I’ve asked her not to prepare me a dinner, since she doesn’t get it. She ignores me and prepares me another stew the next day; however, this one doesn’t have any hot sauce. It tastes a bit bland, so I grab the black pepper and start putting some flavor in it.)

Stepmom: “I thought that you didn’t like spiciness! Black pepper is spicy!”

Me: “Not to me. It’s nice and tangy.”

Stepmom: “Pffft! You young people can’t make your minds!”

(At least she stopped then.)