Today's tale ended in injuries. Not "falling down the stairs 'injuries, but "burning hot peaches and glass flying from hell to breakfast in my apartment" injuries.
I started out my day with a goal to be productive as I only had one class in the evening. Good news: I was productive. I woke up around 8:30 and proceeded to clean my kitchen, make lavender tea bread (excellent, by the way,) marinated some chicken in pesto and herbs (not once, but twice! Double the marinade, double the tenderness.), brought donations to DI, went grocery shopping, made a peach cobbler in a Mason jar and completed all of my class assignments. It was an excellent day.
I'm taking German this year despite the fact that I am awful with languages. My dad used to shout at us in German, so I was motivated to learn the language so that was I could finally know what he was saying. It ends up it was mostly "get out!" but it sounds much more terrifying in German. (FYI: German, Russian, Norwegian, and Swedish are my favorite languages. I love how they sound, even if German does sound mad all the time.)
My friend Paul, (not the Paul from yesterday's story,) had served his mission in Germany, and I knew I would need help with pronunciation. He came over around lunch to help me out with my assignments. All was going pretty darn well until I went to pull the cobbler out of the oven. It was too hot to open and was sealed tight, so I went to the sink and ran some water over the lid.
AND IT EXPLODED.
Little did I know that a Mason jar and a delicious orchard fruit dessert could become a weapon of mass destruction. There were peaches everywhere. Like, on the floor, on the sink, on the wall, on a painting above the sink, on the ceiling, and more than anything else, ALL OVER ME.
I was wearing a lovely cream sweater, and then it became a peaches and cream sweater whether I wanted it to be so or not. My face was also covered in peaches as well as my hair and my pride. My pride was so smothered in peaches that I couldn't even find it at that point.
Paul was sitting at the island bar in the middle of the room, so he avoided the shrapnel, (lucky duck.) I was not too lucky, I had burns on my hand and burns on my lips! How the peaches burnt my lips, I have no clue. Those were the most painful burns, and they still are. I look a little like Angelina Jolie, but my lips hurt a lot more. "My lips hurt real bad!" I sympathize, Napoleon Dynamite. I know how you feel.
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| Peachy keen pinky blister |
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| Red circle shows glass injury. :( |
After cleaning up peaches for a lonnnnngggg time, we left for devotional. When we got outside, I realized Paul had cobbler in his hair. After the devotional, I realized I had peaches in my eyebrows and Paul didn't tell me. Rude.
Tender mercy: only one small piece of glass cut me right beneath the eye. (We initially thought it was a burn, but as I looked at it in the mirror tonight, I wiggled a tiny piece of glass out with tweezers. I should have sold it on the interwebs since I'm like pretty much a celeb and all.)
Tender mercy #2: I smelled like peach cobbler all day, and that is better than any perfume
Tender mercy #3: Paul offered to help clean up and is an absolute gem. G-E-M.
Bad news: There's still peaches on my ceiling. I'm keeping them there as a reminder.
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| Ceiling peaches are the best kind of peaches. |
Bad news: I'm not sure all of the peaches will come off of my sweater.
Bad news: My lips still hurt real bad.
Lesson learned of the day: Peaches are of the devil and Brynnes + Pauls = bad luck.
I'm not going to learn that last lesson because I have several friends named Paul and it would be rude to snub them. Ya dig?
-B
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