Marshmallow Shame

Well, the universe punished me for my hubris after my grammar rant by washing away all traces of my camping 'cred. (Not that I had much to spare, mind you. I know full well that car camping is the training wheels of camping. Just bear with me.)

One nice bonus of the camping trip was all the marshmallows I took home. Two people just cannot eat a bag of marshmallows at a sitting. My housemate, aka The Potential Diabetic, immediately latched onto them and said, "sweet holy peter we need to make s'mores!" (OK, she doesn't talk that way. I'm sure it was something more tame and less Catholic like "holy crap let's make s'mores!" Damn Lutherans.)

So Megarita McGyver thought, "we can just use wire hangers and our gas stove!" and we turned our kitchen into what could be interepreted by a stranger as a location for back alley abortions or a camp out for suburbanites. We made s'mores. DAMN those are good!! (Note for enterprising campers -- Nestle morsels work just as well as Hershey bars when you run out of Hershey bars.)

But I got greedy. While we were chatting about something girly like engagement rings -- diamond or not?* I found my marshmallow was jammed. Couldn't get it off the hanger. So brainiac me grabbed the wire to get a better grip.

Sizzle.

Wire hangers held over open flames get rather warm.

So now I'm the proud owner of a branded thumb. It looks like my left thumb is wearing a seatbelt -- huge line across the entire finger. It hurt. It still kinda hurts. Needless to say I still ate the s'more with one hand while running cold water over the injured digit. Not wasting a gooey marshmallow just because I can't be trusted to remember that metal conducts heat.

But the S'more Slash of Shame remains. Who needs a Scarlet Letter?

*I argue that if someone indeed wished to give me an engagement ring, I would rather have a diamond visible to the naked eye than one of those sad little diamond dust rings. If that's not possible, no biggie! Something else that's pretty is just fine. I enjoy sapphires, emeralds, topazes, and many many more pretty shiny things. I don't get why people need these sad little specks just to have a diamond. Heck, why need an engagement ring? Well, I like the idea, but I can see the alternative's logic. Roomie doesn't even want a diamond at all. We agreed, mouths full of chocolate, graham cracker, and marshmallow, that we were really cool chicks and quite liberated. Hehehe.