Tear gas, onions and my trail of tears

I made some chili (that everyone and their dawg has been raving about on blogger land and Pinterest) the other night.

It called for a shit ton of onion.

I started cutting the onion and it hurt my eyes like tear gas.  Or pepper spray.  Not that I've ever been caught amidst a riot of protesters and needed to be paddled down by law enforcement and sprayed, but if I had, that's what my eyes felt like.

Bastard onions.  I don't even care for onions that much.

I don't even own that mace spray that goes on your key chains because I'd be the one caught in the midst of some extravagant hold-up and I'd accidentally shoot the shit on myself.  Seriously.  I'd be all caught up trying to Indiana Jones the situation and forget to turn the nozzle the correct way and then screw myself mid-robbery.  And then I'd end up on the news as a victim of a robbery instead of being a hero for saving a little girl from the bad guys in a dark alley.

Back to onions.

So, I made this crock pot recipe and cut the onions and then it just hit me.  I couldn't see what the hell I was chopping because the tears are pouring out of my head in record speed.  Like I was in the midst of reading a Nicholas Sparks novel and crying my eyeballs out, but I was in the kitchen with a huge ass knife tearing rivers that could rival the Nile.  So instead of risking slicing my fingers off, I decided to do the next best thing I could think of.  I stopped chopping those little bastards and went all MacGuyveresque in my own kitchen.

For real people, this is some brilliant behavior I exhibit.