Throughout my entire life, I’ve been widely known as Grace. And when people called me Grace, they were being sarcastic. I am not a graceful person, nor am I coordinated (which is why I’ve been having such a hard time in my work-out classes). It’s rather unfortunate, because my Gracefulness leads to tripping, falling or randomly injuring myself in some ridiculous way.
See, I was never the child that fell off the swing and broke their arm. No, no. I have not broken a bone in my entire life, but I have stepped on a nail, that went through my heel bone, broke off, and had to be dug out of my foot by a doctor. I was on crutches for awhile, but no broken bones (technically). I never seriously got hurt playing sports (thank goodness), but I did step on a pile of hot coals as a child when we were camping. I also chipped a tooth and busted my lips while white water rafting (I got stuck in a current and my cousin ran into my canoe and tipped me over). And once, instead of falling while water skiing or doing some other intense water sport, I fell off the back of a jetski and my arm wrapped around the rope (we were towing tubers) and I was dragged for quite awhile. See? I get hurt in the dumbest ways possible.
I blame it on the blonde hair. And for all you blondes out there, I’m allowed to make fun of blondes because I am a natural blonde. Last night, my blonde syndrome was proven once again.
Kev and I were invited to dinner by one of his coworkers. Him and his wife were going to grill some burgers and provide all the food and drinks. We thought we would bring dessert, and brownies sounded delicious. So, Monday night around 9 p.m.
we I started making the brownies. Kevin was in our bedroom setting up our brand-spankin-new weather radio (we’re cool people) and I took the brownies out of the oven to check and see if they were done. Well, they weren’t, so I went to pick up the GLASS, 400 DEGREES baking dish…WITHOUT oven mitts. HOOOOOOOOOLLLLYYYYY HHHHEEEEELLLLLLL. Did it hurt, or did it hurt?
Well, at first, it didn’t hurt, because I was very concerned with NOT dropping the dish on the ground and breaking it. I held onto the baking dish for probably 5 seconds until I could make it to back to the counter (which I didn’t…it fell in an open drawer…talk about a #majorfail). I didn’t realize how dumb it was of me to not grab oven mitts until my freaking hand felt like it was on fire. I started jumping up and down and ran into our bedroom to get Kevin. I didn’t start crying until I looked at my fingers and saw how incredibly red they were. After about 20 minutes of running it under cold water, we grabbed my handy-dandy aloe plant (which does not work) and rubbed aloe on all my fingers. Yes…ALL my fingers (except for my two pinkies). Then, we realized we had no first aid items, so we went to the store to get gauze to wrap my fingers and cover the blisters. The people in Hy-Vee were definitely staring, I couldn’t stop blowing on all my fingers and my eyes were so red from all that hysterical crying.
I managed to burnt eight, EIGHT, out of my ten fingers. How dumb is that? I guess I didn’t think about grabbing the oven mitts because usually, when you put something into the oven, it’s not hot. Right? Well, that’s what I’m telling myself to make me feel better. I kept telling Kevin we needed to go to the emergency room so they could do a CT scan of my brain to make sure everything was OK…because first of all, normal people don’t grab baking dishes that just come out of the oven, and secondly, they don’t hold on to it for 5 seconds to prevent it from breaking on the ground! SO DUMB. dumb. dumb. dumb. I admit it. Dumb.
You know what was even more dumb? The fact that I have blisters on all my fingers, so working the next day was not really an option – plus, the burning didn’t stop until around 4 p.m. yesterday. I’m telling you guys, it was probably the worst pain (besides getting my tonsils out) that I ever felt in my entire life. I would have gladly stepped on another nail or fell off a canoe and busted my lip all over again. It was AWFUL. I’m so happy Kev was home and not at work, because he took such good care of me. I mean, he had to do everything for me, including putting Tylenol in my mouth because I couldn’t grab anything with my hands.
I tried to take a picture of my blisters, but it kept turning out weird…I’m sure you can imagine what my fingers look like. The good news is that it doesn’t hurt anymore! I suppose it was a lesson learned – I’ll never, EVER, touch a hot dish again. I paid my price for being that dumb.