It started with the best of intentions: have a few people over to watch the game, have some food, engage in some meaningless banter over 3-D commercials as we wear funny glasses. Standard fare. It would be the type of gathering that I imagined Chesterton would enjoy. People, food, conversation, and some light entertainment.
Then the idea of preparations got the better of me.
I decided it wasn’t enough to simply buy wings from the local chicken store, which advertised that you could always have chicken tonight with just a phone call. I wanted to make the wings myself.
Not just any wings.
Caribbean hot wings.
A little bit of sweet with a little bit of spice dipped in some variation on a creamy dip… or not, if they were done right.
The trick was, according to a network of food, to marinate the wings over night in a spicy and sweet combination that included chili powder, honey, brown sugar, and a habanero pepper.
I have no idea what a pepper is unless it is clearly labeled at the grocery store, and I knew that the dreaded “habanero” was one spicy pepper. When the local grocer did not carry that particular pepper, I selected a long, green pepper from a basket that was simply labeled “Spicy Hot Chili Pepper.”
Keep in mind that I live on Long Island an the average person doesn’t go around making spicy food. It is usually a variation on something Irish or Italian. There are two sushi places, but I don’t know that they do their shopping at the regular supermarket.
Home I go to prepare the best wings that have ever been made in the entire universe. Sure to cause weeping of joy, or gnashing of teeth. Simply because I have always wanted to see the acting out of the verb “gnash.”
In the process of doing so, in de-seeding my “Spicy Hot Chili Pepper” of no real name, some of the juices got on my hands. In a severe act of idiocy that seems to be the norm for me in these situations, I ran my hands over my face as I was thinking about how great these wings were going to be.
I didn’t notice the burning immediately, but as it started to build, it became apparent that I had inadvertently pepper-sprayed myself by smearing the juices of the pepper all over my face.
I turned red.
It burned like I was soaking my face in acid.
I had dreams of Harvey Dent.
My eyes began to water so I rubbed them. With the juice infected hands that caused my face to burn.
I ran in circles, bumping into things because I could no longer see.
I ran outside and threw my face into a snow drift, which had frozen over with ice, and the shards of ice simply caused more pain.
I ran back inside the house and plunged my face into the toilet, which was unused, but by flushing repeatedly I managed to imitate the “eyewash” from science class that I was always anticipating using in case my zinc explosion went horribly wrong.
Finally, with a flooded bathroom and a face that had swollen and reddened, I sat on the bathroom floor and looked at my hands.
Why had they done me wrong?
Despite the face-searing incident that I encountered in my early prep, the wings turned out quite nice. Preparing the sweet potato fries was another matter.
This involved cutting the precious orange vegetable into small shavings using a Cuisinart, or as I like to refer to it, the “Spinning Blades of Death.” This is due to the fact that you use the sharpest blades that money can buy, and have them spin at a rate that would make a chainsaw cringe.
While removing the blade, my hand slipped on an errant starch and a nice chunk of my right ring finger began to bleed. At this moment as I am typing, the “O”, “L”, and “.” keys on the keyboard are causing a good deal of pain and I am sure I will have to clean it when I am finished.
Once again, the best of intentions leads to unintended results.
This is why even a good intention cannot be used to justify sin. So many times when confronted with something that did not turn out the way that I planned, I simply react with the instinctive, “But what I meant was that…”
Does it really matter what we intend?
Sure, but it probably means a lot less than we think. We should probably concentrate more on the actual activity that we are doing so that we don’t end up spiritually, physically, or emotionally burning ourselves, or cutting our fingertips off.
What is really important?
Is the intent true?
Is the action good?
Is the end result beautiful?
When these three are all answered yes, then we have less burning, less loss fingers, and more of an ability to sit back and enjoy the blessings of God. Even if the Cardinals lost.
