A Cutting Look

My parents know that whenever they call me during my Sunday cooking sessions that I will either 1. slice my finger along with the tomatoes or 2. drop the phone because hot oil just hit my eye. Note that this only happens when I'm talking on the phone with my mom. I just get distracted.

This Sunday, I was frying chicken. Deep frying. Dawn pointed out the fact that I had already talked to my mom so I would be safe. I prided myself on my perfect timing. I was invincible.

Then as I was reaching for the last piece of breaded chicken, my mom called back.

The rest was history. I accidentally dropped the piece of meat straight into the scalding bubbling hot oil. And in protest, the chicken splashed the oil all over my arm. I yelped and burned while Hwanhi and Dawn rushed to relieve me of the stuff I was holding.

They ripped through my mom's 72 hour kit and wrapped me up with layers of gauze.

The biggest burn was on my wrist. And guess what shape it was in?

A chicken thigh. 

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The next day, I felt self-conscious so I removed most of the gauze around my elbow and just kept the one on my wrist.

I walked into my English class and barely plopped my bag down when the girl next to me pointed to my wrist and gasped,

"What happened to your . . .?"

 
She never finished her sentence. Then suddenly sympathetic, she asked,"how is life?"

Me: Well kind of stressful. I feel like things are spiraling out of control.

Girl (with a firm squeeze right on my burnt wrist and a knowing empathetic look): You can do this.

She sneaked another look at my clearly DIY wrist gauze job again.

Wow. She thought I was cutting.