A tearful goodbye to Veronica!

Veronica left us yesterday after spending more than 7 weeks with us in the house. For Jon, he lost a friend to play board games, a weekend baker, and an occasional partner to eat meat! He will be sad.

For me, Vern's departure is more devastating. Having only a handful of friends here before, I'm now down 25% from where I was a few days ago -- no insignificant loss. I've lost my workout partner for home videos, jump rope and walks around the neighborhood. I have no one to drink fun drink, aka: Crystal Light, with or someone who happily shares my yogurt-based veggie dips. No one will marvel any more at my one-pot, vaguely-ethnic dinners or look forward to (another) cabbage salad with vinegar. No one will talk qualitative methods with me into the night or join me for episodes of girlie shows (it's always better to watch embarrassing TV in twos). Sigh.

But, before she left, we took Vern out to our favorite Indian restaurant to celebrate her last night. We've been there a dozen times, all with delicious but only mildly spicy food. Jon, Vern, and I all love spicy food, so we figured we would try one more time to get the food to actually have some heat. As usual, when we ordered, we asked for the food to be, "Hot, Indian Hot, Hot Hot. " But, this time, Jon added the fateful phrase, "don't worry: we won't complain". (cue scary music).


So, as our eyes teared, our throats burned, our lips swelled, and our stomachs complained, we ate as best as we could some of the hottest food I have ever tried to eat. (Note: the food is colored either red chili or green chili). True to our words, we did not complain. We laughed as we thought of the Indian chef in the kitchen ghoulishly cackling to himself, "they want Indian hot, do they? Then, they shall have it!" Of course, where had he been every time before??

Even an additional dish of "super mild" palak paneer, another 2 orders of nan bread, and liters (yes, liters) of cold water could not help us finish or cool the burn. Either could rolls of tissue and paper towels. As if a test of wills, Jon and I both ate about half of our dishes; Veronica smartly waved the white flag just minutes into the meal. Ice cream saved the evening, and likely prevented ulcers. Vern and I still ended the evening with some Pepto-based prophylaxis.

So, sorry about your final meal with us, Veronica. It was a meal to remember, but not the memory that we intended. And for me and Jon, a lesson learned, again: Be careful for what you wish for! Wishes do sometimes come true...