I have eyes again, and I can breathe through both nostrils. It's amazing. 

EDITED TO ADD: A friend asked a question and I answered. Here's the long version. 

So, I was hanging out in a dorm room in high school, when I was a freshman and still a day student (at Hogwarts. You know) with a couple of other girls. One was new and from Korea. The other was a friend I'd known for a few years. 

The Korean girl filled up her electric kettle and broke out a few packets of Korean ramen noodles. She said they'd been sent in a care package from family in New York. This would have been 1984 or so, so getting food from New York was exotic enough, in the Philadelphia suburbs, let alone Korea. 

I have no idea what was in these ramen noodle packets. The wrappers were printed in Korean. Could have been anything. She mixed up some cups of ramen and we sat down to enjoy this delicious tasty snack. 

Had I poured gasoline down my throat and scraped a match across my tongue, I could not have been hotter. The noodles were spicy enough to scare Guy Fieri. Additionally, I could feel my skin crawling into redness as hives burned up my neck and into my scalp and face. 

These two girls were chowing down like they were eating Cheerios. The Korean girl, obviously, was used to this stuff. My other friend is Latina, and said a couple of times how great it is to eat something that's actually spicy for once.  Meanwhile, here I am with a couple of girls who are actually cool, who have this wider cultural experience,  and I was too embarrassed to admit that my white-girl Quaker Oats tastebuds and metabolism couldn't handle Korean ramen. I couldn't even ask for a glass of water, without looking like an idiot, and her electric kettle was dry. She didn't have a kitchen, and I think her kettle's water may have come from a jug. 

And, of course, stopping eating would have been even more rude. I kept eating, so I could be in cool boarding student culturally broad girl land. 

I don't remember how I got out of this. Maybe I went to the bathroom and stuck my face under the faucet. 

I haven't heard from the Korean girl in nearly 30 years, but my Latina friend still talks about how delicious those noodles were and how she wishes she could find them again.