A little while ago, we decided to have Chinese food for dinner. In order to save a little money, we bought some ready meals at Tesco, and rounded it off with a pack of spring rolls. When it came to cooking the food, later that day, we found that while the spring rolls needed to be cooked in the oven, the meals and rice had to be done in the microwave.
With a little planning, we worked out the order in which everything needed to be cooked and set it all off.
A short while later, we took the tray of spring rolls out of the oven so that we could follow the instruction to turn them half-way through their cooking. Yes, we have tongs in the kitchen, but we couldn't be bothered to get them, so we just used our fingers instead.
That cartoon's not strictly accurate for the events. Partly because nobody cried tears (let alone what appears to be urine), but mostly because it was not me, but Julie that was wincing as she gingerly flipped the rolls over. Smiling slightly (I know, cocky bastard, or what?), I took over, nonchalantly turning each roll over, taking my time. Yes, I could feel they were hot, but they didn't seem to burn me, nor did I feel any pain.
Julie couldn't believe it, blaming it on some kind of machismo thing.
"Nah," I said, "I've just got asbestos fingers."
"What?" Julie exclaimed.
Wait... so you want not hot heat...?