October 9, 2001

In The Hot Seat
By Maggi Norris

My darling is a cowboy artist. He makes beautiful works of art out of iron. He even made a brand with my logo for me to hang on my wall. He had been teasing me for over two years that he was going to brand my backside. A few days ago, I did it for him.

Southeast New Mexico in late September is beautiful. The days are sunny and warm; the nights are cool with sparkling stars filling a sky that could be part of an astronomers dream. The last day of September 2001 in the desert of New Mexico had billowy clouds floating above and the barbecue grill spreading a wonderful aroma in the backyard.

There is a beautiful set of wrought iron furniture near the grill that gets a lot of use. Sitting there that day, with those delectable aromas all around me, seemed like perfection. The steaks were lovely, surrounded by potatoes, onions and green peppers. My anticipation for dinner was near that of a child on Christmas morning waiting for mom and dad to get up so presents could be opened.

I was expecting a call and when the phone rang I ran to answer it. At about the same time, my darling went out to check our dinner. It was done. He pulled it off the grill and sat the drip pan on the iron chair nearest to it so he could get a better grip on it. He picked up the pan and our dinner and walked into the house… at the same time I bounced out the door with the phone in my hand and sat… right in the hot seat.

I squealed pretty loud. I was up out of that seat pretty fast. The person on the other end of the phone asked if everything was ok. I simply stood there with my mouth hanging open and said the first thing I could think of. “I think we burned dinner.” I wasn’t admitting that the portion I was talking about was my own hindquarter.

I said goodbye to my phone call and ran to get ice and put it where it would help. I went straight to the table and sat on the edge of my seat and started to eat. At the same time, I was rubbing my sore bottom and thigh with ice. I was hungry and a little thing like pain wasn’t going to stop the fact that there were steaks on the table.

My darling watched me rub my backside and asked if I had sat in that chair. I blushed and nodded yes. He asked if I was ok. I said I was. He just sat there looking at me, biting his lip. Then he started to laugh. This wasn’t a little laugh like the normal laugh when I do something silly. This was a deep leg-slapping, fall out of the chair laugh.

He looked at me with innocent eyes and said that now I could prove I was “hot”. I just looked at him with tears in my eyes and then I started to laugh too. I couldn’t stop laughing. I laughed until my tummy hurt as bad as my… boo-boo.

After dinner, I figured I had better let everyone know that I may not be around as much as usual for a couple of days. With ice in hand, I went to send off a mail to everyone and let them know what happened. The responses were as much fun as that belly jerking laugh at the dinner table. I got offers of syrup and barbecue sauce, as well as “sizzling” offers of condolences.

I have a pretty brand covering the back of my thigh, most of the way from my cheek to my knee. I am a walking talking advertisement for frozen waffles. I even got a new nickname, Waffle Butt.

Where’s the barbecue sauce? I’m hungry.