I didn’t even think to explain to him what it was or to warn him to not touch it.  Max grabbed the curling iron (hot and not using the handle) and said “what is this?”, which was just long enough for him to register the searing heat piercing his skin. He dropped the curling iron and began screaming.  He whaled. He hyper-ventilated. He thrashed and kicked and screamed and begged for Daddy.  This display of audible pain, that could only rival that of a woman giving natural childbirth, eventually ebbed and then ceased — AFTER AN HOUR AND A HALF.   David had Max’s hand soaking in ice water with Tylenol forced down his throat and the promise of M&Ms.  Tiny blisters spotted his finger tips.   After twenty minutes of soaking and half a bag of M&Ms Max slipped off the bar stools and into the family room to play video games with his sister but not before he turned to David and I and said, “Thanks for all the help”.   As if somehow he was surprised that we took the time out of our busy schedule to help a complete stranger.

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