I just love pickles. They are juicy, crunchy, sour, salty, tasty and all other good things besides. If you happen to like them, as I do.
I had a large glass jar of pickles and every day I took some out to enjoy with my meal until eventually there was only a tiny little bit of pickle right at the bottom of the jar. It would be a shame to waste it.
So I put my right hand into the jar and tried to dislodge the bit of pickle at the bottom. It was quite a squeeze to get my hand in and … ehm … how shall I say this … my hand got stuck inside the glass jar.
No matter how much I tried to pull it out my hand was stuck inside the jar at the wrist. No twisting or turning would release it.
I remembered from science classes at school that heat expands things and makes them bigger … so a little heat would enlarge the neck of the jar and release my hand.
Wrong.
I poured boiling water inside the jar and nearly cooked my hand trapped in there. I raised my arm up in the air to empty the jar quickly and got hot water splashing all over me.
There must be a logical solution to this. I don’t want to break the jar in case the glass cuts my hand to shreds.
I decided to phone Aunt Philomena. She’s an expert at everything and is sure to have an answer.
It’s difficult picking up the phone and dialing the number with one hand. I picked the phone with my left hand and balanced it gingerly on my left shoulder. Then I started to dial Auntie’s number. As the phone was ringing I got an itch just above my right eye. I raised my right hand to scratch it and hit my head hard with the glass jar knocking myself to the ground.
I must have passed out for a few seconds.
I could hear a distant voice saying “Hello … hello … stop breathing heavily down the phone or I’ll call the police …”
I said incoherently “Is that you Aunt Philomena?”
I explained that I was not a phantom obscene phone call maker and told her my predicament. The poor lady must have been in shock because all she muttered was “Butter … plenty of butter …”
She was obviously thinking about making cakes or something delicious which is quite her forte.
All the talk of butter made me hungry. I went back to the kitchen and with my free hand I put two slices of bread in the toaster.
I got a packet of butter from the fridge but it was too cold and almost solid. To soften it a bit I put the packet in the microwave oven for a minute or so.
When I got it out of the oven it was too hot and I dropped the packet of almost melted butter on the floor.
I bent down to wipe it with a towel and I slipped backwards on the melted butter and the water I had previously splashed all over the place.
As I landed on my back my hand must have struck the ground hard and broke the glass jar into million pieces.
I was found later when my family returned from the shops lying unconscious in a pool of water, congealed butter and broken glass … but no blood.
I blame Aunt Philomena for this!
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