"The burned hand teaches best." --J.R.R. Tolkien

No, dear Tolkien, not in my case.  I don't think I shall ever learn.  Yes, I have burned myself again.  I endeavored to take a photo of it for the world to see.  It's mediocre at best, and since I forgot to take it last night, not quite as impressive.

The pink swooping mark that is easier to see on the side near the pencil is my latest burn.  I made it on the sandwhich maker last night.  I wanted grilled cheese sandwhiches for dinner, and for whatever ridiculous reason, I closed it at a funny angle, and it grazed my arm as it shut.

I held in a cry, Kim asked me if I wanted ice, I nodded, and Justin was confused.  He asked me what I did, and I said, "What I do best!  Burn myself."  He told me, quite logically, to stop burning myself.  If only it were that easy!  I don't do it on purpose.  I just do it often, and never on the same thing twice.  So, sandwhich maker, check!

The burn starts at about an inch below my wrist and continues for another inch.  Fortunately, it doesn't hardly hurt today, which could be because I sat with a lunch-box cold pack on it while we played board games last night.