Front to Back, or Back to Front?

I think I need to explain just a little more about what happened to me last Tuesday. First of all I burned my hand, and I blame it all on Mark. He left me alone all day with written instructions on exactly how to prepare dinner.
"Brown the pork tenderloin in a oven proof skillet, then put the pork into the preheated oven at four hundred and twenty five degrees for twenty minutes or until the internal temperature reaches one hundred and sixty five degrees.", read the note that Mark had left me.
Geez, what could be easier than that?

Mark was busy all day and he had left me in charge of dinner. The last time he ever did that was sixteen years ago, and just last year he finally told me that he absolutely hated that meal. It was quite impressive that Mark was entrusting me for only the second time in sixteen years, with the responsibility of preparing an entire dinner. So around six in the evening I began working on my task. I got three potatoes, sliced them up and boiled them in a pot for mashed potatoes. I also had a package of frozen corn that I intended to cook up in the microwave. Very carefully I browned the pork and stuck it in the oven. Every five minutes or so I would put on the space age oven mitt that Mark has, and pull out the meat to check the temperature. Finally, it hit the desired temperature and I removed it from the oven. Carefully I placed it on the top of the stove and turned to go into the dining room to finish setting the table. As I turned I realized the pork was too close to the edge of the stove. Knowing Chandler would not hesitate to try and grab that hunk of meat, I decided to push the skillet further from the edge...  Did I mention that I had taken the oven mitt off? Let me tell you, the first thing that went through my mind was that the handle of the skillet was cold. A fraction of a second later I realized that it wasn't cold at all.

For two days my hand was bandaged and in pain. In those two days I learned that I really needed my right hand for so many things. I needed it for cutting the meat on my dinner plate, for typing my pithy little blog stories, for walking the dogs. There were so many things that I needed that right hand for, but the thing that freaked me out the most was when I discovered how much I needed it in the bathroom.