It Burns

I burned the roof of my mouth on a positively nuclear appetizer last night. They called it a fried jalapeno with cheese on the inside of it, and it felt warm to the touch, but what I neglected to consider was that the molten cheese on the inside was comparably as hot as lava, glowing white as it oozes forth from the crusty nether regions of mother earth.

So it hurts when I brush my teeth. There's pink in the sink. I can adapt. Until I have my second cup of coffee. You know, the one that I don't set to the side and ignore completely while I get caught up on e-mail. The one that's piping hot and ready to sear.

Yeah, I don't usually scream "Fuck!" after my first sip of coffee. (Notable exceptions are almost exclusively limited to consumption of Portland's own Stumptown's "Kilimanjaro" blend, which is so good I'd walk over my mom and yours just to get a cup.)