Quick! Somebody call the whaaaaambulance! I've been cut. Sliced like the fat on a beef brisket on a cooking show, although I am not, at this moment, soaking up marinade.
This morning I carefully set out the ingredients for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's World Famous Chex Mix. I have been making a batch every weekend, in order to keep up with the holiday demand. My moves are so old hat that I could do them in my sleep. Set out the three pans. Layer the ingredients. Douse with flavorings. Pop into the oven and stir every fifteen minutes. Voila! MHMWFCM.
Today I nearly lost a thumb. I was not careless. I followed the usual protocols. It was time for the cashews. I picked up a can from Save A Lot. That J. Higgs should have his nuts examined. The foil covering under the lid is deadly. No woman should be subjected to the loss of her hitchhiking digit while trying to free J. Higgs's nuts. That's just wrong.
I'm not sure exactly how it happened. That's probably because I became a bit woozy with the loss of blood. Less blood means less hemoglobin, and less hemoglobin means less oxygen, and less oxygen means less smarts for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's brain cells. What? You didn't think I was going to do finger bone connected to the hand bone, did you? It's not like Oscar Goldman had to rebuild me.
I grabbed that little silver tab and pulled the foil can-covering back. At the halfway point, I twisted that shiny agent of death so I would not send J. Higgs's nuts spewing across the Mansion kitchen in a perfect parabola after the final release. That's when it sliced me. On the booger-picking-finger side of my right thumb. What? You mean civilized people call it the index finger? How quaint.
Thank the Gummi Mary, I was NOT holding J. Higgs's nuts over the raw ingredients for MHMWFCM. That would be unsanitary. None of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's life fluid leaked into that clamored-for savory treat. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. Wait! No I didn't! I was bleeding to death. I rushed into the bathroom and tried to tear open a Band-Aid while trying not to throw up from the pain and ickiness. Which is kind of hard when your thumb is dangling by a shred of flesh. After daubing away the kickball-sized drop of blood that welled up through the rent in my flesh, I wrapped my thumbkin and got back to work preparing to provide pleasure to the masses.
Did you know that all of the ingredients for MHMWFCM are highly salted? And that hot dishwater has a way of finding any openings in your epidermis? And that apparently skin is some weird sort of insulator for nerve endings to keep them from feeling like they're on fire when they are put into the oven, even in a mitt? It's true.
Don't worry, should you be an upcoming recipient of MHMWFCM. The treat managed to retain its integrity.