Only he didn't have a tail and horns; he was round and ugly and full of boiling oil.
And I thought, oh good idea 'little, innocent, unassuming mocha-can': didn't want to make a mess!
So I lifted my right hand and wrapped my thumb and first two fingers around its rim, raising the can from the counter and thinking, "Something feels very wrong."
Hisssssss said the Devil and flaming fire scorched its heat across my skin, burning my poor sensitive fingers and requiring me to type this journal entry with one hand.
On top of the Devil and royally failing at food, I bawled like a baby for a half hour--no, not exaggerating--while I ran my burns under ice-cold-water. Once I'd recovered my dignity, I had to clear my fogged glasses, so I took them off and set them down to wipe my eyes.
Imagine my terror when I went to feel for where I thought I had set them and couldn't find the dumb glasses. So I'm stuck there, blind in the kitchen--and you really need to understand how BLIND I am: without glasses/contacts, I can't tell where one thing changes to another. Colors blend together, everything looks like one-big-one-thing.
Of course, when I picked up the first circular thing my fingers could find, imagine the scream that tore through the house when it ended up being the Devil again, sinking his teeth once more into my already weeping skin.
Needless to say, I eventually found my glasses. In the meantime, the egg I'd left cooking on the skillet had adopted a costume similar to my scorched bacon.
No longer hungry, I slumped down here to cry alone in the basement of a house surrounded by snow. So emo.
2 comments:
OMG! That's AWFUL!
And I understand where you're coming from with the glasses/contacts thing - I can't read the big E on the chart at the doctor's office. I thank God that I was born in the 20th century and can wear contacts.
I know.
When I was a kid I wanted to be "Catherine Called Birdie" until my mom told me I'd be blind if I lived in her century.
I can't imagine.
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