Hots for MamaGoof

We talk a lot about super-powers at Goof Manor. GoofBoy can make teams lose by rooting for them, while I can sprout a beard faster then a Chia Pet. GoofGirl is simply awesome.

But sometimes, MamaGoof feels left out, bereft of superpowers.

She shouldn’t. Outside of my little world of make-believe she is the most astoundingly steady and competent human being. She can cook, fix things, and do high-order math. When our power went out during the Snowpocalypse she sealed off portions of the house with makeshift walls made from sheets and blankets and began making soup so we’d have something hot to eat while also heating the house. When we have car troubles, she talks to the mechanics (and gives them pointers on what to look for.)

If something is going down, MamaGoof is the one you want to have your back – not me (unless somehow you think a timely blog entry is key to resolving the crisis.)

She also has a very real super-power – I’ve seen it.

Her dad used to travel with a gallon drum of habanero chilis, which he would put on just about everything he ate – including toast and ice cream. He ate them like Tic-Tacs and his daughter, my wife, would match him bite for bite. He had to take them on trips because if he went too long without he would get cranky and sluggish. Thankfully, he hasn’t had much need to travel in the past decade, because there is no way airport security would let him through with a virtual chemical weapon.

I like spicy food. But dishes that only dimly register for her will make me cry.

Years ago (before we had children), at “First Night” in Annapolis (a New Year’s Eve event where stores and restaurants stay open all night and there is entertainment) we stopped by a specialty hot sauce stall. The proprietor had a few samples out and Annapolis residents were sampling them and bursting into flames.

MamaGoof (then properly GirlFriend Goof I guess) tried a few and was nonplused. The proprietor began digging more deeply into his collection, but without success. A crowd had gathered. It was showdown at the Chili Corral.

Finally, he brought out a heavy black case, opened it, revealing a brittle looking bottle, and poured a few drops onto a metal spoon (which began to blacken and warp.) With a wicked grin on his face, he handed it to MamaGoof.

She slurped it down and made a face. The hot sauce pusher laughed, “I got you! No one can stand that stuff, they use it to make police pepper spray.”

MamaGoof looked up, “It isn’t spicy, but it tastes terrible.”

Then she pulled a habanero out of her purse, bit off the tip, blew away the smoke, and put it back and she walked into the night.