CORN CURLS

I am enjoying a fairly lazy Wednesday morning.

 In the process of hanging out, reading threads and articles on this lazy Wednesday morning, before I start looking for things to do around the house, I finished off my last cup of coffee and found myself seriouly seeking food( probably the effect of to much coffee!)

I got up and made some toast, but that just didn't cut it.

  I riffled about the kitchen and decided to get into my work lunch supplies. For me thats a huge no-no. I am fairly O.C. about making taking my lunches to work cost effective.

 But I do love corn curls.

I buy them specifically for packing my lunch, and I make one bag last two weeks. But today is day two of three days off in a row, and that bright orange bag went neon on me, so I grabbed it.

As I was munching away, reading a newer proem(NOT mispelled) by Bradley the Mad Proet, I caught a glimpse of my hand. I remembered a very embarrassing, yet for my family an extremely humorous, past experience born of my my excessive craving for corn curls in my youth.

 I was staying the summer with family in De Witt, Michigan while my parents were away. It was a huge farming family.

I had found a rare occassion to set by myself and tear into a bag of bright cheesy crispy corn curls. I was literally shoving them by the hand full into my mouth. With full force I bit into my pinkie finger that was totally covered with the cheesy good neon orange goodness.

It hurt real bad.

 I cried out rather loudly drawing much attention to myself and my attempt to put away this whole bag of cheesy goodness before having to share even one.

Only the tears rolling down my face, to everyone who came running to my aid, hinted of my selfish fate.

The look on the faces of people running back from their farm chores, sure that a dire emergency was emminent.

An ovewhelming pause seeped up from their stomachs, and then proceeded to expel from their mouths in the form of hysterical laughter.

They helped me wash the orange red goo from my finger, and applied a bandage.

The scar is long gone.

But one would think, I would have never touched another corn curl again in my lifetime.