Soon after she started washing the dishes, making sure to not touch the hot water coming from the tap since it was bound to be around 99.99 degrees celsius (do your own conversion americans, we managed the metric system 20 years ago) if not more. Then she turns on the cold tap and puts her hand in it. Unfortunately the cold pipe, being so close to the hot one was about the same temperature and, as I'm sure a doctor would term it "burned the fuck out of it" and screamed for help.
Like a chubby combat clad batman I swept to the rescue to grab the lavender oil from the bathroom (once I realised what had happened). The conversation went like so:
Me: the fuck? what?
Me: i'M JUST GOING TO GET YOU SOME LAVENDER, OK?
Me: YOU WANT WHAT NOW?
Me: I'll just get you some lavender, calm down, we'll get the other thing in a minute
Me: *searching cabinet instead of the box where I KNOW she keeps the oils* in here?
MR: *SOB* NOYOUDUMBFUCKINTHEFUCKINGBOXWHEREIALWAYS
Me: Ah.. *search the box*
MR: *sob sob sob*
Me: Here we go now *shakes bottle*
Me: Oooh! *toss the bottle to one side, hear a plop as it lands in the toilet bowl*
MR: *gritted teeth* hurry up, it really really hurts!
Finally I found a bottle of the stuff with some oil in it, we doused her hand, found some painkillers and sorted it out as best we could without grafts and the like. Luckily years of abuse in college has given her skin (and intestines) certain asbestos-like qualities and she should be okay.
Still, don't fucking call me if you find yourself on fire or something.