Pistachios

Have you ever eaten a pistachio?  

The other day, the Little Man and I are sitting on the couch.  He has a large bag of pistachios, and a bowl.  He is putting a lot of effort into eating this treat.  To me, if I have to work too hard, I’m not eating it (exception: snow crabs).  Why sit there and pull that shell apart only to have to discard the shell and pop the nut in your mouth?  Too.  Much.  Effort.  But he likes them, and he is quiet, so who am I to complain?  I watch him methodically do this process over and over, never taking his eyes off the television as he pops it out of the shell, drops the shell in the bowl and with the same swift movement pops the pistachio in his mouth.  I am fascinated.  I say to him, “Give me one of those.”  As he reaches into the bag, I think about the last time he may have washed his hands.  “Just give me the bag,” I snap.  He passes me the bag.  I pull one of those pesky nuts out and pop the whole thing in my mouth.  

“Mom! You have to take it out of the shell first!” he screeched at me. 

“I assure you, this isn’t my first rodeo,” I skirt back at him.

He shrugs and turns his attention back to the television.  I immediately taste the wonderful salt on the outsides of the shells.  Letting it linger on my tongue, I move the shell around in my mouth enjoying the sweet salt taste.  Then I let that stupid little thing settle on the left side of my back molars.  I position the shell (knowing it is already slightly cracked) so that I will be able to bite down and finish the cracking process. Or. So. I. Thought.  

I want you to picture this little nut thing in my mouth.  It already has a slight crack in it.  I bite down slightly, only to widen that crack a little.  Then I release it with the intensions of readjusting it since it didn’t pop open.  Only when I release it, that slight crack which is up against the side of my tongue goes from a 1.75 millimeter crack down to a 1 millimeter crack.  On.  My.  Friggin.  Tongue.  

The pain shoots through my mouth.  Tears immediately spring into my eyes.  I am shocked and want nothing more than to stop the pain radiating through my body.  But the nut was still grasping my tongue.  I scream out, but my language is extremely distorted due to the fact I have a pistachio hanging on the left side of my tongue halfway back.  The Little Man frantically turns and sees the pistachio clinging to my tongue which is hanging outside of my mouth.  He sees my tears rolling down my cheeks and sees the extreme fear and pain in my eyes.  Do you know what my angel does?  He grabs his phone and starts taking pictures.  

Planning his death in my mind I scream at him to remove the blanket that I had draped around me.  I then tell him I need the blanket off so I could go to the mirror and bite down on the right place to open up my crack wide enough to release the hold it has on my tongue, which is now dripping with blood.  The only problem...  those words came out like two-year old baby babbling.  I even had the drool running down my face to go with it.  He couldn’t understand what I was screaming.  I was in so much pain I couldn’t pull the blanket off myself...I couldn’t even think straight.  I was terrified to move an inch.  

Can you picture this?  Let me add something.  Now the Little Man is standing up, with his phone-camera in my face, and tears rolling down his face.  Only his weren’t tears of sadness.  They were tears of laughter.  Deciding I would later kill him, I finally managed to get the blanket off me with my pain multiplying by the second.  I made my way over to the mirror and positioned the nut back between my teeth and bit down, releasing my now very swollen tongue.  Then I wiped my tears and my drool, and made a mad dash for my sweet angel who was literally rolling on the floor holding his stomach from laughing so hard.  

*Note to readers: Pistachios?  Not.  Worth.  The.  Trouble.