The Fortune Cookie Should Have Warned Me

Piping hot wonton soup -- 1

My boobs -- 0

I may not be able to wear a bra for the next week.

I love wonton soup.

Well, it's wonton-less wonton soup b/c I like the broth but not the slimy, obscene-looking noodles filled with mystery meat but still, I love it.

Wonton broth with a little rice settles my stomach so nicely.

It doesn't do anything good for my chest though.

Earlier, I was sitting on the couch watching a movie with my mother who was in the recliner, my normal seat. Moving spots had me all discombobulated and I had to figure out how to eat. Add to this scenario that we were in the dark.

While trying to balance the hot bowl on the cleavage portion of my underwire bra, my grip slipped and the soup sloshed out of the bowl, all over my chest.

Here's me screaming, "OH MY GOD!!! I'M BURNED! I'M BURNED!" while the soup seared through the top layers of my skin and my mother, after a way-too-long pause to evaluate the situation, struggled to get out of the chair.

Tom came racing up from his lair in the family room like the house was on fire. He was startled to find out that while the house wasn't on fire, my poor girlfriends were.

I'm all pink and mottled.

It HURTS.

I imagine it will hurt more tomorrow when the kids repeatedly lean on them, squash them, throw things at them and all the other things they do to me while treating me like a jungle gym.

I finished the soup though. It wasn't the soup's fault, after all. I like soup. I really, really like it.

I would eat it on a plane.

I would eat it on a train.

I would eat it in the rain.

I would eat it in a box.

And I would eat it with a fox.

But I will never eat soup in the dark on the couch again.