*Wink*

WHY IN THE WORLD...
would I give up a sunny Saturday in the 70's to work in a kitchen behind a hot stove?

Read on.

I walked in the office.
Two chefs were talking.

Dave spins in his chair, smiles and folds his arms.
"So, Scott says the reason you don't want to work here is because HE isn't the one who asked you."

I half smile and look at Scott.

Scott looks at me and winks.

I say to Scott,
"You said you wouldn't tell."

We all crack up.
And...then work the next 7 hours.

Time flies when you work alongside people who don't take themselves too seriously.
*Wink*

While I slept...

Warning. This is gross.
Read at your own risk...

Well, the silvadene and dry Band Aids had done very well at keeping the chance of infection to a minimum. Things were looking good - an even moistured, non-cracking scab was forming. I so left the bandage off last night to let it get some air.

Boy, that that a mistake.
I awoke to pain in the middle of the night as I scratched the entire scab off in one fell swoop while I slept. (I guess it itched.)

Bleary-eyed, I washed up, grabbed the cream and hermetically sealed the wound.

I am so pissed.
Well, kids we are off to scarland...seeing that it's now open pink divet.

Damn it.
Back to the drawing board.

At this point, I might want to ponder a tattoo.
While these scars do have some geometric and linear consistency, they are hardly artistic.

OK, kidding about the tat.
I'm so pissed.

Ouch!

And, I do mean...Ouch!
You know, I'm getting just a bit tired of burning myself at work.
Last week, I manged to sear my arm - in two places - while working stir fry.

This week I did it again - on the same piece of fleshy real estate.
Burn on a burn.

A shade of pink I have seen only on the bedroom walls of little girls...
And sadly, the arms of my compatriots in the kitchen.

Like the pencil ticks on a door, marking out the height of a child with each passing grade - 1, 2, 3...

My left forearm bears witness to each new kitchen adventure -
Stir fry (window 1), Pizza (window 5).

Ouch.
:(

Now, THAT'S gonna leave a mark.

This is my friend Kellie's tattoo. I really like it.
No, I'm not getting one.

So, this week I was doing stir fry again. My 3rd day doing it.
Sparks and flames - controlled oil fires, you know?

And, of course, I burned myself.
Seared the inside of my left forearm with a flaming... hot... pan.

Hello.
That's gonna leave a mark.

I swear, burns are like the tattoos of the cook line.
Maybe that's why so many cooks have tattoos - it just an artsy way of playing "connect the dots" using the pink patches which line their arms.

No, I'm not in the market for a tattoo.
But, if I were...this would rank high up there.
(Since I couldn't find one of a cup of java.) ;)

Cheeseburger in Paradise, anyone?