More Horror Stories

Oh. This is a good one. Here's a story from my days of living on my own.


One night (I'd make it a dark and stormy night, but it wasn't. Let's restart.)


One hot and sultry, muggy and listless night, I was trying to make tacos, but I had twice the meat I needed. Using a wooden spatula, I cut the ground beef in half and then used the same spatula to flip half the meat from the package into the frying pan. Or tried to: I missed. The meat flipped backward.


My leonine reflexes activated and I caught the meat before it could splatter the cheap linoleum with bits of beef and fat. However, like a 1940s pirate movie villain armed to the teeth, one hand held the meat package, and the other, a spatula. How, you wonder, did I catch the meat?


You need background. Because it felt like it was 50 degrees Celsius in my apartment, I wasn't wearing pants.


I caught the meat between my thigh and the front of the oven.


This horror story, as most low-budget flicks do, has a happy ending. Since the meat didn't hit the floor, I was able to extract it from between my leg and the oven door with my bare hands, dump it into the pan, make tacos, and disinfect the heck out of my kitchen and thighs.


Not every horror story from that kitchen has such a happy ending though. Like the cocoa incident.

See how the lid is balanced on the lip of the sink.