I have this magnificent urge to yell "I'm okay!" the way Henry does when we hear a huge crash or thud from wherever he is in the house and we go running.
I'm okay. My finger hurts like a sonofabitch right now. A few minutes ago I figured it would be a great idea to clean the burners and the lift-up part of the oven while the oven was doing a self-cleaning cycle. Why? Logic dictates that all the gunk around the burners and the underside of the burners would warm up and be easy to scrub off. I just didn't realize how hot the oven would actually get and now I'm pretty sure there's one place on my finger where you can see the bone now.
I'm good at casually gravely wounding myself. What can I say?
Oh, I know what I can say. Ben? Yes, take-out would be good tonight. Like you suggested earlier.
On the upside? The oven is so clean I can see my face in it. I'll probably burn my nose and eyelashes off but damn, I'm pretty! Pretty dumb, that is.
(In my next life, EQUIP ME WITH THE HEAVY GLOVES, YOU IDIOTS. Clearly I wasn't meant for this pedestrian sort of activity, or I would be good at it, no? Oh shush, you.)
(You realize you just read an entry about oven cleaning, right? Yes. Hopefully by tomorrow we will both have gotten lives.)
Owies.
