Do you remember reading the story that circulated about exploding biscuit cans? It went something like this: woman goes to grocery and buys a can of biscuits—let's say Pillsbury Golden Flakes for our purposes. On her drive home, the can of biscuits explodes, sending bits of dough flying through the car. A rogue piece of dough strategically splits from the can and makes a B-line for the front seat, where it whacks the driver in the back of the head. Fo a fleeting moment, she's convinced she's been shot.
My question is this: How does one confuse biscuit dough with gunshot wound? Honestly, I never quite understood how someone could misinterpret such an incident.
Until last weekend, when I had an exploding biscuit can incident of my own. Without the biscuit can.
The saga began Saturday on my way home from a local festival. I'd spent the bulk of the day peddling Talk Bourbon to Me books and matching super cool wood ornaments. It was hotter than Hades, I tell ya. And more humid than hot, if you can believe that. And of course you can. It's late summer in Kentucky.
But I digress.
After making my way back to the car, my first order of business was to refill my tumbler of ice (thank you festival vendor) with club soda. Never have I been more thankful to have not one, but two cans of bubbly liquid on hand. I popped one open, poured it in to the tumbler and headed home, thankful that I'd narrowly escaped impending dehydration.
Things were going just fine until somewhere between singing along to Carly Simon and the Bee Gees, the spare can of club soda exploded. After my heart stopped for a millisecond—the explosion almost scared the golden flakes right out of me—I truly wondered if, like the biscuit lady, I had been shot.
Until phase two hit—and every drop of water in that can of club soda spewed all over the front seat, windshield, drivers side window, rear view mirror, my sunglasses, shirt and pants.
I gotta tell ya, though. That part wasn't so bad. Because once I overcame the initial shock, I realized I was finally cooling off for the first time in hours. As the adrenaline rush wore off, it was a good reminder about what not to do—especially when it comes to hot cars and carbonated beverages.
Truth be told, it could've been much worse. At least I'd been able to drink one can of water. At least it had been carbonated water and not a sugary drink.
And at least it wasn't a can of exploding biscuit dough.