Hot peppers bring tears to my eyes, but so does a family anecdote from my young adulthood.
I was living with my parents and slept during the day because I worked graveyard shift. One day my mother and brother brought home some pork barbecue for lunch. They pounced on the delicacy, chortling because I was missing out. (We’re a quasi-functional family, okay?)
They should not have accepted the “hot”…