(I think it's kind of funny.)

I swear I don't have anything against my right bicep. Of course, it didn't perform quite as well in the whole pushup challenge as I'd hoped, but clearly my left bicep is at least half to blame for that. Being right handed, it supports my pencil-pushing habits admirably. It is responsible for holding most doors I pass through without complaint. Until my car committed suicide in Georgia (yes, that's what we're calling it now) it drove a mean stick shift.

And yet I seem to have some subconscious vendetta. Either that, or I have a rare and under-appreciated disorder for self mutilation, limited to the right bicep, limited to kitchen burning, limited to the month of August, limited to odd numbered years.


August 2007:
(That time it was much worse and maybe you're eating breakfast or lunch and it would not be thoughtful to surprise you with those pictures, so here I am a week after the fact sporting a fashionable bandage. Ohh, fancy!)

For comparison, a little chart:

  • August 1, 2007
  • Alli is trying to brown a roast in hot oil and splatters herself with said oil.
  • Kyle is at work.
  • Alli quickly applies a compress of frozen corn.
  • Alli calls Kyle and he seems to not fully understand the gravity of the situation.
  • Alli finishes the roast! Success (sort of).
  • August 14, 2009
  • Alli is trying to--at the same time--remove biscuits from the oven, but not put the hot pan down on the stove and explode it. Again. And somehow pulls the oven-hot pan into her arm.
  • Kyle is at work.
  • Alli quickly applies a compress of frozen corn. (I KNOW! What are the odds?!?)
  • Alli emails Kyle pictures and he still seems surprised when he gets home.
  • Alli finishes the biscuits. But can't get motivated to make the second batch.