The Adventures of a girl who can't light a match

I don't believe I've ever lit a match in my life. I don't know how I managed to get through these two decades plus without ever lighting a match or starting a lighter, but yes, somehow I have. Even through chem labs when I would get someone else to light it, even through myriad birthday cakes and candle-lightings I have successfully abstained. Yes, even through fireworks. The closest I've ever gotten to matches was saving the matchboxes to put toys inside, or being passed an already-lit match to help light candles on a birthday cake. Even then, I'd do it really quickly, always worried the flame would somehow engulf my finger.



This morning I woke up and realized I had not brought any food. No bread, no cereal, no eggs, no breakfast food at all. I briefly contemplated running to that scrumptious bagel place a couple blocks away, where they have the yummiest fresh bagels and eggs and juice, but alas, it was already deadly hot outside. After suffering for the latter part of yesterday with yet another heat-induced headache, I was not about to go caraveening outside again, even for a dozen minutes or so. I felt like a prisoner of sorts, of my own doing, and it was a funny kind of feeling. So I set about scavenging the kitchen for abandoned morsels.

I found a jar of oats. Gleefully (sense my desperation?) I set off putting the oats in a pan and water on it, until I realized. That our stove was somehow spoiled and the only way to get a fire was ... a match. Or a lighter. That my mother had told me this information the last time I was home, to which I promptly handed her the match and she promptly lit my pot for me. And after which I promptly forgot about the whole thing.

In a mighty effort (prodded by my grumbling tummy), I pulled out the lighter and tried to light the flame. Maybe today, fueled by hunger and urgency, I would finally overcome my fear. Perhaps it would finally be the day I could be proud of and I could excitedly message my friends .... that I could now light a match? Congratulations, indeed. Click. Click. Nothing. I could smell the gas so I turned it off, turned it on, and tried again. Nothing. All I had was me, the empty kitchen and the reeking aroma of gas.

I peeked at the box of matches lying in the drawer, picked it up and absently rubbed the rough edge with my fingers. Nah, I tossed it back in. The search began again, as I rummaged through the fridge. My eyes came across a packet of red bean porridge, with instructions to microwave for 2-3 minutes. I could do that, easy. And though my taste buds rebelled at the thought of watery, smushed, sticky redbean paste, I microwaved it anyway and settled down with my newspapers.

After four mouthfuls, I could not go on. I can handle a couple of red beans sprinkled on some dessert somewhere, but hundreds of them mushed up for breakfast and in a hot glob on a hot day was somehow too overwhelming for me. I shoved it down as best I could and then looked around again. Salt, salt, I needed salt to counteract the cloying sweetness that somehow tasted wrong.

Went to the freezer. Ah, potstickers, my salvation! Dumping them quickly onto a plate, I set off microwaving them. Until I read the back of the instruction packet more carefully, and realized that microwaving was not recommended. This was starting to get mildly ridiculous, but also amusing. After five minutes, the microwave beeped and I cautiously removed the plate. The potstickers looked... doughy.

Not one to be picky at this point, I set about eating my potstickers, or rather, the insides of them only, prodding them open to eat the oily chickeny flavorful insides and discarding their doughy uncooked shells. Aftermath of which I felt slightly sick and had to douse it down with water. I had also microwaved a lotus bun I had found, and promptly burned my finger taking it out because I was already so harried by then.

I sat down with my newspapers spread out on the table, the spoils of my breakfast sitting on them, and shook my head feeling slightly silly, but yet I couldn't help be amused by the sequence of events today.

So twenty odd years of not lighting a match did finally catch up to me. (**Disclamer: the above events are neither typical nor reflective of my usual breakfast routine nor my usual state of mind while having breakfast. Read: I'd like to think I am usually not that silly!**:)