As a true Californian, I know the only answer for over-ripe avocados hiding in a fruit bowl is right-now-best-ever-and-don't-add-garlic guacamole. But I today I had no chips (required) so I grabbed my wallet for a quick trip to the market.
On my way a tragedy occurred. A tragedy and a horror. In a move that would surprise not one of my people, I wiped my eye with my finger and suddenly all of the dark green and roasted jalapeño that had seeped into my skin made contact with my contact. And the world was over.
I drove weeping down the street until I mustered the wherewithal to pull over and rip out my contacts. There was nothing to do but sit in my car and let jalapeño tears stream down my face and burn my cheeks knowing that someday this too shall pass. And it did. And it was cathartic. And I opened my eyes to find myself parked at the door of a Planned Parenthood. With worried neighbors walking past. Walking past a weeping woman. A woman weeping jalapeño tears.