Friday, March 6, 2015

Carnival Weekend Burn.

Carnival here in T&T recently happened. It was on February 16th and 17th to be exact. Like most years, I ignored it. Except for that one year while working at The Paper, I have had no reason to go out on Carnival Monday and Tuesday. I'm lucky I'm not one of those who look forward to this every year because, this year, would have totally sucked for me since I was forced to spend the entire long weekend laid up with a second-degree burn injury.

Actually, yeah, that still pretty much sucked.

It all started the Friday before the long weekend, or "Fantastic Friday" as it's come to be known. Mrs C and I were getting ready for work and, as I do every year, I was looking forward to getting a long weekend of rest and relaxation while most everyone else would parading through the streets in feathers and sequined bikinis. As an added bonus, because most people couldn't wait to get the partying, a lot of workplaces - my own included - were shutting it down early that day.

We were tired. We had not been getting to bed as early as we should have for the past few days and, as a result of that, Mrs C lost control of a pot of boiling-hot and spilled some of it on me.

I know! Ouch doesn't even come close.

Not to brag but I'm normally the "just walk it off" kind of guy when it comes to pain. I owe that to the years of training I received at Masochists' Gym. But this one hurt. I knew it was bad because it was the type of pain I couldn't ignore. Still I handled it pretty well...
You should have seen me! I knew it was bad and I still handled it like a boss. I went into the bedroom to check it out in the mirror. The hot water went right through the fabric of what I was wearing and burned what looked like about two inches of skin off (I found out later it was closer to six inches when the rest of the damage started to show).

Sorry if that's too TMI.

Did I cry? No! Did I panic? Nuh-uh! Instead I was the one who stopped and consoled Mrs C, who started crying after she realized what she'd done. Dammit, I even finished getting dressed and went off to work after applying some basic first aid. ON MYSELF! I was so cool.

There was only one thing... ONE THING that took away from my absolute awesomeness in this story. You see, what actually happened was that Mrs C had, in fact spilled the boiling-hot water... on my ass.


"Only you could find a joke in all this." Mrs C said when I mentioned her failure to choose a more convenient location to injure me.

It's funny how it's not as much fun to lie around and do next to nothing on a long weekend when you're actually forced to do it. I spent the entire four-day weekend lying on my stomach and the first half of that time I had to be (literally) butt-naked until the-um-wound was healed properly. If I could have done that without the benefit of getting burned that might have probably been my idea of a perfect weekend.

On a side note, while I'm not one of those guys who believes that women are evil mean and secretly reveling in the pain and suffering of their male oppressors, I could not help but notice the marked increase of Mrs C's uncontrollable urge to slap me on the behind during my recovery. Maybe someone could explain that one for me.


  1. The ass-slapping urge doesn't stem from a deep, inherently feminine evil, but a general, marital passive aggression. Now, the maiming of your gluteus maximus...
    I'm sure you have thought of this but, oh my god, if you were facing the other way!?! Just a 180° turn and this blog turns into "As Vinny Has a C". (No, I will not elaborate on what the "c" stands for.)

    1. No need to elaborate. I try not to think about the alternative. The mere idea makes me shudder.

      I'm shuddering right now!

  2. By Jove, you've invented hot pants! (Not them again...)

    1. I'm pretty sure this one won't catch on though.

  3. Not sure whether to laugh or cringe so I did both. Get better dude.

    1. Both are acceptable. I'm fine now. Wary of hot water... and my wife but fine.


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