Natalie vs. The Potato

Saturday night, while letting Nellie have some play time before bed I decided I was hungry and I was going to attempt to find something that was relatively easy to eat. I had just gone grocery shopping that afternoon and had three big, fat, juicy potatoes and excitedly, realized that I also had sour cream, and chili.


I justified my choice of dinner by telling myself it was my last hurrah in eating poorly. You see, on Sunday, I made my first visit to the gym in over two years.
Yeah. Wish I could say I was lying. Read all about THAT fun experience later.

Anyway. I popped the potato in the oven and figured I’d have a delicious dinner in about an hour. I put Nellie to bed, and messed around online until my timer chimed. I cut into the potato…

And it was hard on the inside. The potato sat there, silently mocking me. Sigh. I put it back in for a half an hour. When the half hour was up, I pulled potato out of the oven, stuck a knife in it and it seemed to go through easily enough. So I cut open the entire thing and found..


Cue me throwing a tantrum in my kitchen, complete with a foot stomp. Yeah, I’m a 26 year old woman and I threw a tantrum over a frigging baked potato. What of it? I actually looked at the potato and said, “SCREW YOU, I’M EATING YOU ANYWAY.” It sat there on the counter, crunchy and condescending and I cut that bitch up and stuck it in the microwave for a few more minutes. When it was done, it was still resisting succumbing to softness so I said, “screw it” and I poured my chili and sour cream and cheese over it. I seized my fork and pierced one of the more tender chunks of potato and crammed it in my mouth. Something registered in my head, something like, “this is too hot for your mouth, spit it out”. But another part of my brain said, “No, it’ll cool off in a second.” and then the first part was screaming, “SPIT IT OUT YOU EFFING MORON YOU ARE BURNING YOUR MOUTH.”
Stubbornly, I spit the potato back out on the plate. It sizzled evilly up at me and I realized that it had burned the hell out of the roof of my mouth.
Touche, potato.

Impatiently, I waited a few more minutes before I attempted another bite and my second bite was far more successful, and delicious, than the first. I triumphantly ate the rest of the potato, satisfied in my victory.

….Until I woke this morning, and found that the potato had the last laugh after all.
I have two blisters on the roof of my damn mouth from where that bastard ass potato burned me.


Why does this picture even exist?


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