Corner Booth

So I went to Wendy's today around 1 in the afternoon, I was starving. I ordered a normal (large) value meal, then decided I also needed a cup o' chili. Yum. Got home, ate my normal (large) value meal, and realized my eyes had been much bigger than my stomach. "No problem," methinks, "this shall make an excellent late night snack." A NASCAR race and dinner later, I was thinking to myself, "Damn, that chili sure sounds good now," and I moved to warm the cup o' goodness up in the magical microwave. "A minute should do it," thought I, but alas, I was incorrect. "Surely, there needs be only 30 seconds more," I said, stomach eagerly awaiting the warm tasty surprise, but again, I was wrong. Impatient, I thought to myself, "Fuck you, chili, I'll show you...2 minutes." Seconds passed like the grains of sand in the hour glass, and when the mystical box beeped three times, I knew it was time for gestation. I opened the microwave, grabbed the cup o' chili, and realized my folly. Heat permeated the paper cup which held my treasure...and good God was it hot. For one second I thought I could make it out of my kitchen and into my living room, to the t.v. tray which awaited me, the next second, I felt the searing hot chili on my chest and realized my fingers had failed me and the chili I had looked forward to all day had been dropped from my hand, and was burning the shit out of my torso. When I collected myself and stopped screaming like a school girl, I looked, to my horror, at the wonderful treat and thought...dammit, now I have to clean this up. Somehow I had uprighted the cup holding the chili, but had let the chili, itself, spill all over the counter and onto the floor. I know, it could be worse, I could have no food at all. That single thought is honestly what stopped me from screaming obscenities like Howard Dean on a bender, but damn...that chili looked good.
Much Love,
Bo