I made a failed attempt at cooking my foot this past weekend. I was heating up some water at near flesh melting temperatures (280° F) because I was trying to sanitize a five gallon bucket - a task I've completed successfully many times. In the past, I'd poured 2-3 gallons of boiling water into a bucket, snapped on the lid, and sloshed the water around for a bit. This time, however, I was forced to use a lid that did not come with the bucket. It was still a lid designed for five gallon buckets, just a different style than what I used before. Within seconds of sealing the bucket, the lid exploded off throwing water (still boiling) all over the kitchen. Suffice to say, it hurt.
The worst (and most embarrassing) part of all this is after my foot was burned, I made a feeble attempt at running out of the kitchen. See, the problem with having boiling water all over the floor is that you don't know where it is. You know, because water is clear and all. So as I was running away, I couldn't help but step on what felt like a bed of freshly forged nails. My legs kept giving out from the pain, forcing me to fall face first into the mess. By the time I made it into the carpeted living room, my foot, elbows, and knees were all throbbing with pain. The ensuing blisters can only be described as enormous goiters.
It's times like this when you realize that perhaps you should have bought some Ibuprofen or Tylenol when you were at the store. Luckily I have a wife who reminded me of an ancient Irish ritual for reducing pain and lifting spirits: drinking booze. That, combined with oils and ointments, has guided me to a speedy recovery.