Okay, now that I got my Rocoto pepper plants I can relax a little. But while I was deep in the throes of hunting them I'm sure I was asked by more than one person, "What's with you and these peppers?"
And I would answer in a robotic monotone. Don't. Know. Must. Have. My arms extend straight out in front of me, eyes glaze over and focus on middle distance. I push past the inquisitor and walk stiff legged, muttering Ro-co-to. Ro-co-to.
Perhaps I exaggerate, am I not allowed to crack myself up?
Anyway, it's not like I'm one of those chili pepper nuts.
I DO NOT have a hot sauce collection.
I DO NOT have a cap or t-shirt or any apparel posing the question, "Got Habanero?"
I DO NOT order all food "3 Alarm" hot.
I'm just a gal who stumbled across an interesting plant that I'd like to add to my garden. Besides, it's not like I'm growing 7 different kinds of beans, or somthing equally eccentric. Yes, I do know someone with just such a fetish, but discretion prevents me from revealing her identity. She might not go to the Spring Garden Fair with me next year.
So she is growing 7 kinds of beans, but I'm the one with the problem. That's the beauty of gardening. Oh sure, all the noble, uplifting stuff about communing with nature. But more importantly, it provides a way to direct the crazy in us all and cloak in normalcy, kinda.