I've been really trying to get some time to myself lately. And Mike has been great about it! He's been letting me sleep in and he doesn't mind when I read or sit in front of my laptop. He's wonderful. The baby hasn't been quite so understanding. But I try anyway.
Yesterday, in an effort to enjoy some me time, Mike and Carter went to Mike's mom's for dinner and a visit. I would have gone, but I am desperate for some solitude. Everyone said I would miss being bored by myself. But I didn't listen. Silly me.
So they were gone. I felt great. I sat on Tumblr for about an hour. I watched So You Think You Can Dance, I read a little bit of vogue. And I got hungry. So I made macaroni and cheese. And ate that. And then I ate one of those delicious German chocolate bars they sell at Lococo's. Then I remembered the creme brulee in the fridge. And so I went to make that.
I don't have a torch, so I used to oven to burn the sugar on the top. It was taking forever and I kept opening the oven to check it out. God knows where our oven mits went. I think they were grungey and I may have just thrown them out without first replacing them. Stupid.
Anyway, taking the beautiful creme brulee out of the oven I burnt the shit out of my finger. The smoke alarm went off! Like Jesus! A layer of skin had curled up and turned the colour of burnt porkchops... There would be no blistering. We had gone past blistering. It fucking hurt.
But I ate the creme brulee and it was worth the burn. It was.
But I am not going near that oven without oven mits ever again.
I spent the rest of my alone time dressing my wound and feeling sorry for myself.