Tuesday, January 20, 2015


This week I was the victim of a pintrickster.  It happens, you know.  Sometimes when given a promise I want so badly to be true I just ignore all the signs.  Although my pride demands I keep this experience to myself, I feel called upon to expose lies whenever I see them.  So, without further ado, here is what happened.

A few weeks ago on Pinterest I stumbled upon a "tip" promising tear-free onion chopping.  I think I'm pretty sensitive to the sulfuric acid that wafts up during slicing and dicing and often turn into a blubbery mess by slice number three. The tears can be so thick it impairs my vision by either complete fogginess or a burning sensation so sharp I can't even crack my lids open. When wielding a large, sharp knife, being able to see is kind of important, so I often have to step away, wash my face, and go back in for round two.  Annoyed by my body's exaggerated response to one of my favorite vegetables, I readily clicked on the link, and was pleased by the suggestion.  Burn a candle.  That's right, just burn a candle.  The theory is the heat will burn up the sulfuric acid byproduct of death before it reaches your eyes.  No tears and you get to play with fire, how could this go wrong?

Tonight I stood at the counter, knife in one hand and matches it the other.  My station was already set up, cutting board front and center, and garbage sack for scraps to my right.  To my left was a pumpkin pie flavored candle leftover from the holidays just waiting to be lit.  I sat down the knife and struck a match, basking in the warming, homey smell of burnt wood.  I lightly touched it to each of the three wicks and blew it out, watching the smoke dance happily like a fortunate omen.  I waited a minute until the smell of pie filled the air.  Then I began to chop.

Slice number one, no tears.  I am Superwoman, I thought.  Slice number two,  still no tears.  This is actually working!  Slice number three, the most dreaded of all slices, I could feel a little burning at the outer corner of my eyes.  Now I was in trouble, and I knew it.

By slice number five the water works kicked in, and it wasn't just a few delicate drops.  It felt like searing lava flowing from my eyeballs. I tried to blink through the pain because tears or not, the onion needs chopped, but it just kept getting worse until great gooey glops of mascara muck began to descend like rain on the white devil flesh.

The flames of the candle waved and leered at me, sending more holiday scent toward my nose which embraced it without hesitation, leaving me with nothing by the taste of onion flavored pumpkin pie in the back of my throat.  With wounded pride and blind eyes, I sat down my knife and walked away.

I was tricked.  I admit it.  Please learn from my mistakes.

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