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Hot Wings and Disappointment
It was quite a few years ago, back when Kyle was maybe 10 or 11 years old (as I remember it) and we went up north to visit in the summer. Davy wanted us to meet him at a place called Bimbo's. It was (is) the equivalent of a Lake of The Ozarks restaurant/bar. He had this crazy smile and said that he got the hottest wings they serve and wanted us to eat them. 
Before moving forward with this story, I should point out that up north, to spice something up they quickly pass the pepper shaker over a pot of something. Sometimes, they may actually turn the shaker over. Back to the story . . . . .
Kyle, never one to back away from food, quickly reached out and snagged a wing. He took a tentative bite (he wasn't stupid) and then all of a sudden DEVOURED that wing. A machine couldn't have done it faster. He came back for more. I've seen the boy eat and decided if I wanted any, I'd better get in there. Between the two of us, we cleaned it up in minutes. We repeatedly asked Davy if he wanted any. Maybe it was the wings talking, but I swear every time we asked him (or I looked over) his face had taken on a more crestfallen look than it had before. He forgot the primary rule. A lot of us southerners eat spicy food often. To add insult to injury, I remember him asking Kyle if he thought it was spicy and Kyle responding, in between gulps, "No. It's not."

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