Whiplash

Continuing where I left off…

Lisa carried me to the kitchen. I realized I couldn't really go to work today, and asked her to call me in sick.

I jumped down, ran across the floor, one hand still holding up those stupid shorts. Lisa called and said, "I'm calling in for Debra Small. She can't come in today. She's under the table. Weather! The weather! I said the weather. She's under the… she isn't… she… she's sick. Okay, she'll be in tomorrow if she's bigger. Better! Damn it!"

Lisa's an actress, but she's better w/ a script. Really.

"Hey, Lisa! Can you get me some coffee?" She poured herself a cup and added a little soy milk, and, after a second's thought, spilled a few drops onto a small plate. I jumped easily to a chair and then to the table. I hate soy milk. I like cream and extra sugar. I lapped at it like a dog. I didn't yet realize about capillary action or that I'd need to break the liquid's surface tension first. An entire drop as big as my two fists together went down my throat, and lodged in my chest.

I couldn't breathe! I choked and tried to cough. Lisa picked me up, held me upside down by my feet, until most of the coffee came back out, in one drop. Luckily, the hot drop had cooled much quicker than a full cup would've, so I was not badly burned, just slightly scorched.

Okay, I'll admit it. The next few minutes were me crying and screaming and Lisa just standing awkwardly holding me in her hand not knowing what to do.