It all started with me wanting to bake some muffins. Every year, my friend and her husband have people over for breakfast before the Mardi Gras parade in St. Louis' historic Soulard neighborhood. (St. Louis has the largest Mardi Gras celebration in the Midwest, and I think is only second to New Orleans in the entire country. Actually, I just learned that the word "soulard" is French for "drunkard." It's almost like they planned that...) Anyway, so I volunteered to bring muffins to the pre-parade shindig.
I found a yummy-looking recipe for cranberry-orange muffins, so I whipped up the batter and into the oven they went. I opened the door when the timer went off and, like a moron, stuck my head a little deeper into the oven than I should've. Whoosh! A huge gust of 400-degree air comes flying at me (apparently there was a hellstorm brewing in this appliance of mine) and practically burns my face. I jerked back and for a split second, worried if my eyebrows were singed off. Once I realized that they were still intact, I noticed the strangest feeling in my eyelashes. The heat had wreaked havoc on my mascara, fusing my eyelashes together! It was the weirdest feeling!
I set down the muffins to cool and went to look in the mirror. I was a spitting image of Tammy Faye Baker. WTF. I don't even want to know what is in mascara that made it react to heat that way. When we were kids, my brother and sisters and I used to tease my stepmom that mascara was made out of bat guano. I don't know where we got that idea, but I'm going to assume that's not really what it's made out of. At least that's what I'm hoping...
Anyway, a few laughs at myself and a good face-washing later, I can definitely claim a lesson learned on this one. It'll be a good story to tell tomorrow, right? Before all those Hurricanes turn me into a soulard. ;)
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