Duh.

The origin of the blog's title has drawn inquiries from a few, including my soon to be sister in-law (yay!) Kristin.  It is somewhat of an interesting story. 

Not everyone knows, or believes, my history of stupid mistakes.  Falling up three stairs followed by falling down four for a net loss of one step.  The never-fostered math geek in me giddy to reflexively yell out in answer to the square root of 144 before others opened their mouths, but without realizing I was thus nominating myself for trash duty at work.  Unintentionally swapping the first sound of two words important to a sentence so that I end up saying something completely inappropriate, like when I instructed my yoga students to "lower your belly over your twigh and move into your thist."

There are two friends historically who were, and at times still are, the main people to hear of my debacles even if not originally witness such great transpiration.   Two apartments and two and a half year ago the coffee maker was a fancy Pavoni espresso press.  In fact, much of that kitchen was of the same syndrome: "They all get the job done, so I'll take the best."  Espresso machines require highly pressurized heated water that gets clamp-pressed through tightly packed coffee grounds.

When I got downstairs I noticed the steam was escaping through its usual leaky spot indicated a recent brewing -- coffee without waiting for it to warm up?  Nice.  But the water gauge showed too little for once press, I had to refill things first.  Despite having refilled the machine numerous times, this time I forgot to depressurize (via the milk frother, the long, thin silver extension pointing down in the example picture) and immediately unscrewed the water reservoir's cap.  Duh.

I still had a couple of turns to go when the water pressure found a convenient escape, and by unscrewing that last bit for me it also spun the dorsum of my thenar eminance (the back of my thumb/web space) down towards the upwardly expanding boiling water.  The cap blew to the ceiling,  water went everywhere, and I ended up with a doozie of a steam burn on my hand:

Two days after...

I text these aforementioned friends with a picture text exclaiming "Another blonde moment of genius.  What a way to start a morning."  Friend A blew up my phone with first aid instructions since he knew I was delaying the process in lieu of "Whoa!  Dude!  Look at the blister size now!" kind of dumb stuff.  Friend B simply laughed and said "Well, at least you now have the title of you memoir."