Sunday, January 11, 2004

Bonus Entry: F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck!

I just burned my hand. Sonofabitch. Ow ow ow ow ow.

OK, here's the deal: I have an iron. I rarely use it.

I wanted to iron my trousers today, so I plugged it in and turned it on. I set it to setting "4" for "blends of cotton." I realized my trousers are instead poly, so I changed the setting to "3."

In the process of flicking the little switch from 4 to 3, I noticed that the little switch felt like it was swinging freely -- I could easily move it from 1 to 7 as though it were unattached to anything inside the iron. I wondered whether it was actually having an effect on the heat of the iron.

Ultimately, something else happened and I decided not to iron (I was going to take the hem out of my trousers and iron them flat -- but upon tearing out the hem partway, I realized the edge wasn't finished so I'd have to take it to a tailor). I flicked the little switch on the iron off.

For some reason, I thought this would do some good.

Forty-five minutes passed.

Cat jumped on the ironing board.

I dove over there to grab her, because SOME part of my brain said: "Keep the kitten away from the hot iron!"

Put kitten on the floor. Said to kitten, "See? Stay away from the iron. It's hot."

Some OTHER part of my brain said: "No it isn't. It's been off for 45 minutes. Go on, feel it with your hand."

Tapped my hand against the surface of the iron. Got the distinct impression I burned my fingerprints off. CLEARLY turning the iron off had no effect whatsoever.

Unplugged iron.

As soon as it cools down, there will be a short Dumping Of The Busted Iron ceremony by the trash chute.

2 comments:

grodygeek said...

So sorry to hear of your injury. I so know the feeling. If you've read enough of my entries to learn that I didn't just find accidents they also found me. I hope you had lots of ice to treat you hand with. Is there anyone that likes ironing? Good excuse to watch a bunch of your Nexflix film? Get better soon. Gordy

olddog299 said...

Scary thought: You grow up in Burlington Vermont by chance? You ARE the right age. My daughter's 11 y.o friend comes into the living room in the dead of winter and watches me pour steaming coffee into my mug from the pot atop the Jotul wood stove, walks up to the stove and says, AS SHE PUTS HER HAND ON THE STOVE, "Is this hot?" Her screams, which continued to the ER and thence to the regional burn unit, haunt my nightmares to this day.