The reason for this list is that I was reading something on the internet today that reminded me of things that put me a whole world of hurt. Anna said not to stick your finger up your nose after touching jalapeno peppers, and it made me flash back to a still-vivid memory I have of an incident that happened in the summer of 2000. The Fiery One and I had just started dating. We were living in different cities, and I had come down to Cityville for the weekend. I was lounging around in his bed upstairs while he made preparations for supper. Part way through cutting up vegetables, he came upstairs to snuggle and whatnot. The whatnot part is important, so pay attention.
We snuggled, we kissed, we got a little exploratory, and then I shouted. And then I shouted again in a staccato ow ow ow ow. These were not the shouts of pleasure from someone in the midst of great passion but the shouts from someone in the midst of searing, burning pain that her vagina had previously not experienced. Her being me. Me being someone who was at a loss as to how to explain what was happening to me. What was this new dreadful and distinctly unsettling pain? The Fiery One looked stricken with guilt for hurting me and confused about what the hell it was that he had done exactly.
While I was crushing bunched sheets into my crotch in an effort to smother a burning three degrees from the sun, the Fiery One was developing an expression of comprehension. It was a little a ha! and a little I am an idiot. He had just been cutting up jalapenos, and despite the fact that he had washed his hands, some of the jalapeno juice must have remained on his fingers. He had just accidentally applied fresh jalapeno juice to my most tender parts with deep affection.
I would like to assure you, if you ever find yourself in this wickedly painful situation, that you should not panic. Although the initial pain was fierce, after some flushing and a cold cloth, the burning died down slowly. After about two days of healing, it didn't even hurt to pee anymore.
Other things that put me in a whole world of hurt in no particular order are:
I watched them hold a needle up to the light and squirt a bit of fluid from the end of it. I instantly jolted, attempting to leap off the table while yelling out holy freaking crap! A kindly nurse pinned me back down and told me to take a deep breath while she laughed at my language. I sounded just like her kids, she said just before they shoved what surely was a veterinary guage needle reserved for livestock into the webbing between my finger and thumb. Fortunately, I only passed out from the pain for a few seconds and was able to watch a majority of the surgery. Watching people cut into your own flesh like it's some kind of object while having a conversation about George Orwell's 1984 was so cool to me at the time. Things were operating on so many levels: the intellectual, the physical, the psychological, and shit, I'm so sorry, but I just noticed the horrible pun at the beginning of this sentence, and I'll stop now.
I was about eleven years old at the time, which means that I was just a touch taller than the handles of our gardening tools. A hoe and and a rake were lying in the unmown grass in our back yard, so I didn't see them when I stepped down on the rake blades, propelling the rake handle up and into my face. Stunned and off-kilter, I stepped backward and then forward to the left of the rake, which had me stepping on the hoe's blade and propelling its handle directly up into my face as well. Completely thrown off balance after this thoroughly cartoonish affair, I stumbled and fell backwards, smacking the back of my head into the stippled cement work at the base of the house.
Within about ten seconds, I had managed to give myself a puncture wound in my foot, a black eye, a bruised cheek, and a scrape in my scalp imbedded with cement pebbles.
I could write an entire book called World of Hurt: Schmutzie and Beyond, but I won't, because I like you. And you? Lay it on me. I like pain.
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