First it was mayonnaise. Then sourdough. But that wasn’t enough for me, folks. I have to come up with some creative way to humiliate myself in the kitchen rather often, it seems.
Three days ago, I needed a teaspoonful of coconut oil. It needed to
be in liquid form. Since we don’t store the coconut oil jar in the
oven, it was not liquid. At all.
In the past I’ve melted small amounts of oil by simply running the
jar under hot water for a while. Feeling rather impatient, however, I
chose to grab a spoon, fill it with the oil, and hold it over the
stove. After it had melted, I dumped the oil out of the spoon.
That was when my brain decided to stop functioning properly.
I looked at the spoon and realized that there was still a wee bit of
coconut oil left upon it. So I brought the spoon to my mouth,
completely forgetting about the fact that I’d just held that same spoon
over a stove burner. I’m such a doofus at times, people.
It was only when I heard the hot metal of the spoon touch the
moisture on my lip and sizzle that warning signals started flashing
through my mind. Oh! Yeah! It’s HOT!
Thankfully, I was able to pull away the spoon before getting
seriously burned. Mom thought my brain lapse was utterly hilarious, and
started snickering every time she thought of it. I walked around with
an ice cube wrapped in a wet paper towel for the rest of that evening,
which constantly helped her remember said brain lapse. (Really, I
wasn’t seriously hurt at all; every trace of the burn had vanished by
the next morning.)
Two days later (er, yesterday) I found myself in kitchen once again.
Mom was having trouble with a can opener, and asked me to help, since
I’ve met others’ complaints regarding the can opener with skepticism in
With some amount of effort I was able to get the can mostly
opened, but there was no way I’d be able to get the last inch, given the
rather warped and sorry appearance of the can at this point. No
problem – I’d just bend back the lid and pour out the enchilada sauce,
Bending back the lid proved troublesome, however, and I
realized that just opposite the intact-inch there was another sliver
intact – also out of reach of the can opener. But it was tiny enough
that it would be easy to break.
Placing my thumbs against the lid of the can near that errant sliver,
I pressed downward. Mom glanced toward me with at concerned expression
and, “Hannah, I don’t think that’s -” at about the same
instant that the tiny piece of metal broke. Green chili enchilada sauce
erupted out of the can and spewed forth onto my hands, the counter, and
floor. I may or may not have also gotten some on my face. Which
looked like this, but with green chili enchilada sauce:
Oh, and I’m also not a cat. That should be obvious, but I thought I’d clarify just in case.
I guess I won’t doubt those who say that we need a new can opener, anymore.