LOVE HURTS

I love coffee and I love tea and they are two of my favorite things. And even though I'm the Occasional Klutz, I tend to get along rather well with a steaming cup of Joe or English Breakfast. So well, in fact, that super-hot beverages are part of my daily F train multi-task trifecta, wherein I balance my ipod, book-or-magazine, and coffee with the greatest of ease. I've become completely efficient at enjoying all three, which I think makes me a little bit amazing.

And here is where I admonish all of you who think that your invisible super-powers on the train or wherever mean that you're a little bit amazing: arrogance is always rewarded with pain. Must be, because just now, in the break room, while filling my cup with boiling water from the coffee maker for my afternoon green tea pick-me-up, I daydreamed a little too dreamily, and burned the ever-loving-shit out of my left hand. It was so bad and so surprising that I instantly started crying, IN FRONT OF ANOTHER, UNSYMPATHETIC, PERSON, and COULD NOT PLAY IT OFF. I didn't curse or even whisper an "ouch!" or a "yikes!" or a "zounds!" I just cryingly put my hand under cold water and watched the red welt snake its way, like hot pink paint, down my hand, while the UNSYMPATHETIC PERSON silently snaked her way, like a hot green snake, out of the break room.

I'm writing this to say that the truth is that at the time of The Incident With My Hand I was daydreaming about what it feels like to be in love. And, get ready: I started crying both from the burn and that it happened while thinking about something so pathetic. I was burned AND humiliated. My daydreams are like the finest Maple sap, and I am practically a Grown Woman. Practically.