My daughter stopped and looked at me, puzzled.
“Safety goggles,” I explained. The elastic strap was losing its spring, so the limp tail ends hung down past my ears as I worked. “Because I couldn’t find my chem-lab goggles.”
I continued to trim the tops and tails off the onions and slice them up with the mandoline. “These are really loud onions,” I added.
She walked past me to the refrigerator and suddenly exclaimed, “Omigod, they just attacked my eyeballs!”
A few minutes later my son-in-law walked by the sofa, making a small snork noise at my incredibly nerdy appearance.
“I heard that!”
“I didn’t ‘say’ anything!”
“Hey, four pounds of onions is a lot of onions!” Apparently the pungent Allyl propyl disulphides had not yet diffused as far as the living room.
Later he came by to ladle up his French onion soup from the big stock pot, and found the pong to still be strong. I opened the kitchen window a crack, mumbling, “Just imagine what it was like when I was slicing them up fresh!”
I don’t care how the goggles look – they are excellent for making onion-slicing painless. (Well, at least for the cook.) They’re now sitting on a kitchen cabinet shelf, since I cut more onions than I do lumber.