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Wednesday, May 25, 2005

It's Gettin' Hot In Here

You ever want something so bad you can practically taste it? Have you ever had a passion for fulfillment you couldn't contain? You ever want to be completely satisfied?

It's taken me a while to get the nerve to share this story with you folks. A couple weeks to be precise. I wasn't so much worried about you stranger friends, mostly just my mom. I'm sure there are some things I could write that would even make my mom cringe. I took the time to warn her about this post, so now I feel like I can really let go of my inhibitions.

Like I said, this was something I wanted bad. The need to be satisfied was overwhelming as I leaned over to see if it was still hard. I could feel the heat. It was a steamy moment I wouldn't soon forget. And then release. Bubbling over, so hot there was no holding back. Like a volcanic eruption, it splashed on my face taking me aback. Hot and dripping the pressure was released.

Where is your mind? This is a family blog you sick little monkeys. Okay, plain simple English, here's what happened. I was cooking dinner, spaghetti. I had a pot on each of the front burners of my shitty electric stove. The burner on the left wasn't heating properly so I had to relocate my pan of water to the back burner, behind my pot of sauce.

I was so hungry and had a taste for spaghetti so strong it was like one of those seven months pregnant cravings.

Whoever it was that said, "A watched pot never boils," was a friggin' liar!

As I watched the pasta swirling in the pot, I kept stirring and checking the noodles to see if they were still hard. As I went back for the millionth time to stir the pasta, the sauce, which was on a low setting, bubbled up right on to my face and chest.

Thankfully I don't cook topless, well, I did pull my shirt over my head really fast after the fact, and threw it on the kitchen floor. As the two big splashes of spaghetti sauce hit my shirt and I felt the heat, it was just reaction to whip that shirt off as fast as I could.

I immediately swiped the sauce off of my face, burning my hand too, and went to the washroom to get a washcloth. I put cold water on it, held it to my stinging face and hand, grabbed a second one for the burns on my chest, which didn't sting too bad.

I went back into the kitchen, with a washcloth tucked into my bra, holding it in place on the burns as I held the other to my face. I turned both pots off.

Trying to keep my game face on because the kids were totally freaked, wide-eyed and seeing me in the kitchen in my bra, I explained what happened and why it happened and then went on to lecture them about why I never let them use the stove, etcetera, etcetera.

Did I mention that the kitchen blinds were wide open? Did I tell you that while I rushed to get my washcloths I had to walk by the front door, which was also open, as were the rest of the blinds in the house? How about the fact that it was a really nice day and every fucking neighbor on the block was out, did I mention that?

A few days later, the burns on my face started to heal and that's when I told my mother what happened. You see, if she reads about me getting hurt, she is gonna be pissed. I had to make sure she knew I was okay too before I could tell her about what happened.

I was on the phone with her and explained the whole thing. Her reaction, "Oh my God! Lois, honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah Mom, it happened a few days ago."

"Why the hell didn't you call me when it happened?"

"Because I knew you would worry and now that it's all healing, I thought you could handle it."

"Could handle it? Do you know how many times I've handled you getting hurt?"

"Yeah, Ma, and I also know how you get all freaked out. I thought it was best to make sure I was fine before letting you know. That's all and I am fine. Really."

"Did it blister?"


"Oh man! How bad?"

"Eh, 'bout quarter-size."

"On your face honey?"

"Yeah. So much for that career as a model."

"It's not funny damnit! Your poor beautiful face!"

"Well fuck Ma, it didn't melt off. It's just a couple blisters. Really no biggie!"

"You better not pop the blisters because they will scar."

"Yeah I know, just like my leg did from that tailpipe."

"Oh God, that was terrible. I'll never forget that huge blister on my baby. Oh and how I cried. Hell we all cried."

"I know Mom. I was there."

"Hey remember the time you were sick and I made you a cup of hot tea..."

"....and I spilled it down the front of me and you ripped my shirt off to keep me from getting burned? Yeah, I was there for that too Mom. Hey, don't worry, I really am fine. My chest didn't blister and the ones on my face and hand really aren't that bad."

"Why do you..."

"...always hurt your baby? I don't know. I guess I am one of those sick freaks into pain and all. Anyhow, I gotta run and strike up the grill for my chicken."

"THE GRILL? Oh honey! Where is your husband and why can't he cook tonight?"

"Hahahaha! Okay, I know I haven't had much luck with hot things lately but give me a break! I've been cooking since I was 9-years old."

You cause one kitchen fire and get a couple second degree burns on your face and all of a sudden your mother thinks you are incapable of cooking.

Sheesh Mom, lighten up and from now on would you just call me Scar Face?

(Everybody sing!) Then one day she was cookin' up some food, and up through the pot came a bubblin' spooge. Sauce that is. Red t'mater, spaghetti sauce. You’re all invited back again to this locality to have a heapin' helpin' of hospitality. Hillbilly that is. Set a spell. Take your shoes off. Y'all come back now, y'hear?

Hey Mom, thanks for worrying about me. I love you too. And thanks for the fireproof suit. It came in the mail yesterday.