The Tale of the Tabasco Terrorist

This is a tale of the day that I realized my mom was a hero…………
The first five and a half years of Jimmy’s life were heaven, nirvana, peace on Earth……………and then the sister was born. At first, Jimmy liked the concept of having a sister, but life as he knew rapidly declined as she grew into a prissy, annoying, hell on wheels. As peace deteriorated, a sister jihad was born.It all began one December………………. a long, long time ago. The mom brought home a box of ice cream popsicles. These weren’t your regular popsicles; each was shaped in the form of a Santa Claus with a stick up its butt. Both Jimmy and the sister gobbled them up as if nuclear annihilation was imminent.One night after dinner, Jimmy and the sister both raced to the freezer to get a frozen Santa Claus. Tensions mounted as both realized there was only one left in the box. Feuding ensued. The mom stepped in and with Winston Churchillesque diplomacy firmly stated neither child could have the last Santa Claus.

For whatever reason, as the night wore on, the mom decided that the sister would be the recipient of the last Santa Claus. Accepting defeat, Jimmy quietly volunteered to get it for the sister (plotting her demise the entire time). While in the kitchen, he covertly poured Tabasco sauce all over the Santa’s vanilla beard and strawberry body. The sister was innocent and clueless. She eagerly took the treat from her brother and began to greedily gobble it up. Jimmy knew victory was near. In a matter of seconds, the sister’s face contorted into a gargoyle-ish expression which was followed by a bratty-sister air-siren scream. The mom grabbed the uneaten portion of the Santa and immediately began the crime scene investigation (don’t mess with Mom-CSI).

Realizing what Jimmy had done, the mom (and hero) demanded that he ingest two tablespoons of the pepper sauce as punishment. He swallowed the blazing hot liquid with an evil smile………………one battle down, many more to go.

My poor mother.