My face! My face!

Here's a fun story from 16 June 08:

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Around 5:00 today, I decided to go grocery shopping. As I did, I got to thinking about Suzy and Krista. During our first meeting, it came up that they like limeade a lot (there was an empty bottle sitting on their kitchen table). Then this past Saturday, I was talking to Krista, and I somehow brought up my thing for kitchen appliances, and I mentioned that an apparently ownerless toaster oven resides in my apartment that I have often considered kyping and adopting except for the fact that I have no idea what to do with one. Her suggestion was to put mozzarella cheese and raspberry jam on bread and then toast it till the cheese melts and the bread is a bit toasty. So as I shopped today, I picked up raspberry jam, a little brick of mozzarella, and some limeade.

When I got home, I pulled down the toaster oven from high up on top of the cupboards and turned it on. It worked, so I spread some raspberry jam onto a couple slices of bread, topped each with a slice of mozzarella, and tossed 'em in.

After a few minutes, the cheese was melty, so I turned the oven off and pulled the tray out and sat down to enjoy my open-faced creations with a bottle of limeade.

The toasted creation was actually quite delicious, which surprised me a little because I was never a fan of the jam-and-cheese sandwiches my dad put in my grade-school lunches, but, then again, he used sharp cheddar cheese and homemade strawberry jam, and no taosting was involved. The milder taste of mozzarella in conjunction with the creaminess of the meltedness made Krista's version quite delectable.

(The limeade was pretty good, too, though it seemed the sort of delicacy that is best enjoyed in smallish quantities.)

And so I resolved to adopt the little toaster oven, thinking that these Krist-en sandwiches might become common faire in my diet, but such was not to be. After I finished eating, I went to return the oven to its perch atop the cupboards, but, as I did so, the door fell open, releasing a searing hot tray onto my face. I dropped the oven from a good seven feet in the air and ran to the bathroom screaming, "My face! My face!" I ran cold water over my forehead, nose, and chin as my roommates came to investigate what had happened.

The poor little toaster oven is history, now--its entire frame is tweaked and its dials fell off--so I had to throw it away. I did get some pretty exciting burns on my face and bicept, though--Victor stopped by and told me I looked like I had been attacked by a tiger. Alas, my life is not that exciting: while some men do the sorts of things that allow them to be attacked by massive felines, I live a life in which I've only ever acquired scars from ruthless inanimate objects.

*sigh*