..in that order.
We got an army sufficing amount of, will-most-certainly-cause-cancer, probably-not-even-pork-but-pigeon, pre-processed hotdogs from some friendly local business. So generally, the Fearless Kitchen Leader leaves me to come up with inventive ways to use them for breakfast, lunch, dinner and often, even snacks...WHILE cleverly trying to disguise their true identity. (ie. freeze them and tell kids: "I SWEAR they're lollipops!")
Lunchtime today, I'm pounding them into pigeon-meat patties, I'm running behind and my mind, being the dependable slacker that it is, is tailing even further off.
That's when I grab a firm hold and heft high a cast-iron pan that's been merrily crackling on the oven for the past hour.
The carnage ensues as the the skin melts off the fingers of my left hand. I squeal in pain and bite back a expletive, choosing instead the more expressive term: Donkey Poop!
Tears fill my eyes but I bite those back too..the tears, that is, not my eyes.
I think I've heard a million home remedies for 10degree burns today. Ice! Vineagar! no! Alcohol! (I think that's a pretty good Idea meself)
Finally, someone slathers honey on my blistering hand, my tender and sensitive fingertips feel as if they've been slowly peeled of flesh and then exposed to acidic compounds.
So here I sit, typing with my one good hand. I've never realized how much I do with ALL 10 fingers.
Though my praise for THAT situation is that I didn't have to do dishes and I got to watch "Animals are Beautiful People" with a Down's Syndrome Kid for the rest of the afternoon.
Keep my left hand in your prayers and well wishes, he's always been the neglected one of the two and I'm afraid he might now get bitter about this.