I've always teased Chuck about "Stuckert Luck." Nearly his entire family suffers from Stuckert luck, but I think Chuck has had the worst of it. Name any ridiculous, unjust scenario and chances are, it's probably happened to my poor Hubby. I always thought since I was a Stuckert-by-proxy, that I had escaped the misfortune. But no. Folks, I have officially accepted that I married into Stuckert luck as exemplified by yesterday's hellish turn of events.
Ever since Chuck began his new shift at work, we've been trying to carpool as much as possible. We wake up around 4:40 AM, make the one-hour commute to the "big city," he drops me off at work between 6:15-6:30 AM, and then continues on his merry way to his place of employment.
For whatever reason on this cold, dreary morning, I could not wake up. Generally, we spend our hour on the highway chatting, flirting and just generally being silly. But today, I was not having it. I put my seat back and attempted to get a few more minutes of shut eye while the brusque sounds of sports radio insisted otherwise. As we neared my exit, I noticed Chuck had made really good time and perhaps we could run through the nearby Starbucks drive-thru for some much-needed liquid energy.
I ordered my usual Venti Peppermint Soy Latte, and Chuck, indecisive as always, settled on black coffee. We approached the window, Chuck handed over our debit card and that's where the sequence of events gets a little hazy. As Chuck pulled the car away and handed off his coffee to his temporary cupholder (i.e. me) while placing mine in the permanent cupholder, somehow or another the lid popped off and scalding hot coffee poured all over my left hand. The warm, striped gloves I was wearing served only to absorb the scorching liquid and I proceeded to scream bloody murder as I envisioned the skin melting away from my blistering hand. Chuck, thrown off by my screams of sheer pain and terror, eventually yanked off my gloves and backed the car up to a nearby parking space so I could run in and hold my hand under the ladys' room tap.
I knew he had to get to work so I convinced him I was fine and that I just needed to get to work and camp out under the bathroom faucet for a little while. He helped me to my desk, left and when the pain still hadn't receded after the gallons upon gallons of tap water, I had him come get me and take me to our family doctor.
Once home, we declared it a sick day and spent our remaining Hump Day hours watching our respective shows/books.
The day prompted many an insightful thought from me, like:
"Holy f@*k! Getting burned is f@*$!#g painful.!"
"Hey, maybe grabbing the steaming cup of coffee by the lid is not a good idea."
"This look is not good on anyone...oh, and Stuckert luck is definitely a thing."