I had a taste for malts today. Luckily I told Chris about this fact early enough in the day to make the requisite grocery run for fresh ice cream. Though I love making my own, Haagen-Dazs is more than sufficient for blending with milk and malt powder. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that Chris had cleaned out the cupboards last week and decided that the malt powder we had was too old, so he tossed it (he's so much more efficient and responsible than me). I would have bought malt powder at the store today had I known! Oh well, the fact that Chris is now in transit to the grocery store to get some, (I didn't make him, he honestly volunteered--malts sound better and better the more talk about them) I now have time to write a blog post!
Thinking of malts brought another funny story to mind. A couple years ago my mom and I were out running errands and decided we needed malts. Luckily I have several excellent malt making establishments in my cell phone contacts, so we called up the Malt Shop and placed our order--one coffee chocolate malt for me, one orange yogurt malt for my mom. Since we were already on the road, we got there before they were ready and decided to run into the great little gift shop next door, just for a peek. After a couple minutes we decided we could wait no longer and just took one last look at a nice little cheese board and knife set near the door before leaving. Oh, but this was no nice little cheese board and knife set. I hadn't even touched it, but somehow the knife out on display sensed my presence and fell to the ground, slicing directly through my right big toe on it's way down. Maybe the knife knew I liked cheese, and that I thought it looked like a handy set, but it was scared to be purchased and used. Maybe it lived a wild life like Woody in Toy Story, when no one was looking, and didn't want to leave behind all it's friends. I have no idea why, or how, it happened, but the next thing I knew I was literally pouring blood onto the concrete floor of the store. I sat down on a nearby bench and my mom ran for kleenex. A clerk came over with a look of utter horror on her face and said "can I do anything?" clearly hoping we would say no. I was in shock and didn't know what to say other than "it's okay." I didn't want to sound like an over-reactor after all. What if I need stitches? What if my toe is forever damaged? What are they going to do with that knife now that it's drawn blood in the store? And on top of everything, I couldn't help but think...our malts are sitting waiting for us next door! My mom wanted to take me to the ER for stitches, but I just wanted my malt. So we wrapped up my toe and got up to go--it was already oozing through the tissue. When we stepped outside my mom practically threw me in the car and put my foot on the dashboard, while I continued to wrap fresh tissue around it to keep the blood from staining the vinyl. As my mom came running back with the malts I thought we were in the clear, but suddenly she was nearly blown over by a gust of wind and suddenly bent over double. I rolled down the window and yelled out to find out what happened and she yelled back "It's my contact--something just blew into my eye and I can't see!" Great, now neither of us could drive. She finally made it to the car and we sat sucking down our malts for a good five minutes before either of us could move. I had to keep my toe from bleeding on everything and my mom had to fish out her glasses, but we made it home and lived to tell the tale. If it weren't for those malts I'm just not sure we would have survived.
The malty goodness has returned from the grocery story ready for action!
The sad scarred toe
