Did you ever put a canister of whipped cream in the microwave? Sounds like something a little rascal might do, or a teenaged boy.
Readers, I am not-so-happily tipping into a new decade next month. I'm grateful I lived this long, but I'm worried about my mind. Where is it?
The other day I made myself hot cocoa topped with whipped cream. Before sitting down to enjoy this treat, I put the can of cream in the microwave. I meant to put it in the fridge. Don't worry, I didn't nuke the can which may have well been an environmental disaster. It was funny, but also disturbing.
I've always felt that our minds fill up with so much goo--especially in the age of the Internet, social networks, et cetera--that it has to decide what to focus on and what to ignore, or at least put in another container. Getting older probably has something to do with. Getting bombarded with chemotherapy and radiation doesn't help.
At least when I looked at my freshly made cocoa, I knew what to do with it.