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    Sample Memoir ForRevision

    Uploaded by

    Jhon Agustin
    1) The narrator wanted to make s'mores for her and her friends on a fall evening, but couldn't have an outdoor campfire due to fire risk. She decided to use the gas stove instead to roast marshmallows. 2) While roasting a marshmallow on a fork over the stove flame, the narrator impatiently put the hot fork in her mouth before it had cooled, burning the inside of her mouth severely. 3) After inspecting the burned area, the narrator's roommate told her it looked like a "dead fish's belly." The narrator was left in pain while her friends went to their weekly event, and she still associates the taste of fall with her

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    Sample Memoir ForRevision

    Uploaded by

    Jhon Agustin
    342 views2 pages
    1) The narrator wanted to make s'mores for her and her friends on a fall evening, but couldn't have an outdoor campfire due to fire risk. She decided to use the gas stove instead to roast marshmallows. 2) While roasting a marshmallow on a fork over the stove flame, the narrator impatiently put the hot fork in her mouth before it had cooled, burning the inside of her mouth severely. 3) After inspecting the burned area, the narrator's roommate told her it looked like a "dead fish's belly." The narrator was left in pain while her friends went to their weekly event, and she still associates the taste of fall with her

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    1) The narrator wanted to make s'mores for her and her friends on a fall evening, but couldn't have an outdoor campfire due to fire risk. She decided to use the gas stove instead to roast marshmallows. 2) While roasting a marshmallow on a fork over the stove flame, the narrator impatiently put the hot fork in her mouth before it had cooled, burning the inside of her mouth severely. 3) After inspecting the burned area, the narrator's roommate told her it looked like a "dead fish's belly." The narrator was left in pain while her friends went to their weekly event, and she still associates the taste of fall with her

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as pdf or txt
    342 views2 pages

    Sample Memoir ForRevision

    Uploaded by

    Jhon Agustin
    1) The narrator wanted to make s'mores for her and her friends on a fall evening, but couldn't have an outdoor campfire due to fire risk. She decided to use the gas stove instead to roast marshmallows. 2) While roasting a marshmallow on a fork over the stove flame, the narrator impatiently put the hot fork in her mouth before it had cooled, burning the inside of her mouth severely. 3) After inspecting the burned area, the narrator's roommate told her it looked like a "dead fish's belly." The narrator was left in pain while her friends went to their weekly event, and she still associates the taste of fall with her

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as pdf or txt
    of 2

    Sample Memoir

    ReadWriteThink: Making the Cut


    Created by Rebecca Addleman

    The Unexpected Dangers of Roasting Marshmallows

    Autumn is like eating a hot fudge sundae. It smells good, looks good, and tastes even

    better. Sue, my roommate, and I had invited a couple friends over for dinner before our weekly

    Wednesday get-together in town. The meal was peaceful enough but then my sweet tooth

    called, “S’mores!” I could envision a lovely marshmallow, roasted to perfection, melting

    together with a chunk of chocolate between two graham crackers. “Let’s build a campfire and

    roast marshmallows,” I said. The girls agreed. It was a perfect fall evening; the clouds were

    cottony and the breeze was chilly enough for a sweatshirt. I could hardly wait to get started.

    “Sorry,” Sue replied. “I passed Smoky the Bear today in town and he said that the

    chance of forest fires is HIGH.” I, however, was not discouraged. If we couldn’t cook outside,

    we could always come up with an alternative inside. Our gas stove would make a marvelous

    substitute for a campfire. Out came the marshmallows, Hershey’s chocolate bars, and graham

    crackers. I thought it might be going just a bit far to break out the three-foot metal roasting

    sticks, so I settled for a fork. I shish-kebabbed a marshmallow and carefully placed it over the

    wavering flames. It took a few tries before I could lightly brown the marshmallow instead of

    turning it into a fiery inferno; I hate burnt S’mores.

    At last, my campfire creation was ready. My mouth began to water. The girls were

    getting out of their seats and heading to the stove, ready to get their own forks and follow my

    brilliant example—when, unfortunately, our enthusiasm came to an abrupt halt.


    2
    I realized that the remains of my marshmallow were beginning to drip off my fork. Since I like

    things to be neat and tidy—and wouldn’t dream of placing a new, perfect marshmallow on a

    slimy, gooey fork—something had to be done.

    I did not stop to consider the scientific fact that if one places a marshmallow on a fork,

    holds it over an open flame, browns the outside of the marshmallow—which one eats—but is left

    with the goo in the middle, which appears uncooked—the fork will still be hot. Yes. I shoved the

    fork into my mouth, clamped down with my lips, and expected to finish off the remains of the

    marshmallow. Suddenly, everyone was gaping at me—eyes wide, jaws dropped. I felt nothing

    but heard a sickening, sizzling sound echo in my ears. In a daze, I separated my lips and

    removed the fork from my mouth—along with quite a bit of skin. I almost laughed, but then the

    nerve endings that hadn’t been singed recovered from their initial shock. Frantically screaming,

    jumping, and waving my arms in a cooling motion, I ran towards the freezer to get ice, to be

    met with empty trays; I settled for a wet paper towel.

    When I was finally able to stand calmly in one place, Sue inspected my wound and

    informed me, “Well, Bec, the inside of your mouth looks like the belly of a dead fish.” With those

    words of comfort, she and the girls traipsed off to youth group—without a single S’more. I was

    left to my own devices. I tried to ingest some antibiotic cream to lessen the pain, even though

    the label said “FOR EXTERNAL USE ONLY.” I don’t think it worked, but the ice cubes that my

    neighbor donated did.

    I don’t eat S’mores anymore. And that is not the only thing that has changed. Now, when

    the cool winds begin to blow and fall is in the air, I taste fresh apple cider, glazed donuts and

    antibiotic cream.

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