I just burnt the crap out of my tongue at Starbucks. I don’t blame Starbucks for serving me my cappuccino scalding hot – hot can cool down; cold can’t really just heat up to scalding. If cold things were able to heat up to a scalding temperature just by being left out, I think the world would be terrifying. Imagine the possibilities; they’re endless: ice cubes flaring up in smoke, snowmen violently thawing into a hissing puddle, and so on. I’d have to wear my leather slippers and green, quilted oven mitts before stepping outside my temperature-regulated igloo.

Anyhow, I blame plastic lids for searing the tender part of my tongue off and leaving it the texture of used sandpaper. Each lid is, in actuality, a Kokopelli of plastic, appearing harmless, and even sexy with all of its smooth contours; it seduces its holder into pressing her lips to its lip, and then sets her tongue afire when she rather expects a comforting and gradual pick-me-up. Alas, the victim’s food will be as tasteless as a wedding gift from Walmart for the next few days.