where wildly different is perfectly normal
How coffee keeps me from injury. Mostly.
How coffee keeps me from injury. Mostly.

How coffee keeps me from injury. Mostly.

You know how sometimes you do something stupid, and as you’re doing it you know it’s stupid, but you’re unable to stop because it’s almost as though there is some unseen force at work and you really need a Movie Guy voice over yelling, “Noooooooooo!!!!!” in super slo-mo and it’s something that’s really going to jank up your day?

Yeah.

Hello Wednesday, you snowy bitch! Yes. Snow. May 12th. Last day of school is two weeks from today. I am aware of this.

I should never ever ever do anything that requires thought before the first cup of coffee has been fully integrated into my system. Emptying the dishwasher this morning, before the coffee had done its first round of bodily introductions, I noticed that, yet again, the dishwasher was spewing out heat. It had been open all night for the dishes to dry so the heat should have gone the way of our warm weather. Happy go bye-bye. So I reached down and…..

“Noooooooooooo!!!!!!”

…touched the heating coil.

Guess what?

It.Was.Hot.

Duh.

I now have three delightfully burned fingers on my right hand. Thankfully I don’t use them much…wait…sigh. Typing on fingers so curved the nails are hitting the keys is less than accurate, FYI. At least I’m not fluting any time soon.

And you will all be so proud that not only did I not launch into a verbal and profane tirade, but didn’t even squeak a peep so I didn’t have to explain to my darling and inquisitive children what idiocy their mother had indulged in.

I’ll be investigating repair possibilities later this morning. Right now I really should jump into the shower, for I have a bloggy meet up in less than an hour and I’m fairly certain that Nancy from Away We Go doesn’t want to endure an unkempt me. She’s in town visiting her parents and we’re meeting for coffee.

Let us hope I can keep the stupid away from me before that coffee makes its way through the bloodstream.

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