Attack of the Cobbler

As the seconds ticked by, the aroma grew stronger.
Cherries. Blueberries. Raspberries. The smell of warm fruit mingled with sweet syrup and baking dough.
In anticipation I opened the microwave door. Steam billowed, carrying with it that delectable scent of cobbler.
I pulled the saucer toward me. The saucer being my microwavable safe plate upon which the silently sinister cobble sat.
As the saucer cleared the microwave, the cobbler saw its chance to attack. Its slick microwavable container slid from the saucer and launched for my right leg.
I was taken by surprise. Gooey goodness latched onto my upper thigh and knee and oozed a burning trail along my leg. I heard the saucer clatter to the floor and saw purplish syrup splatter the kitchen as I danced in pain, swiping the steaming cobbler with my hand, thus leaving defensive wounds on my digits.
I stripped my lounge dress over my head and sped to the bathroom. I vaulted like an Olympian into the bathtub and turned on a cold shower and washed the cunning cobbler from my body.
I returned to the crime scene to find my kitchen floor looking as if a mafia hit had taken place - purple and red  streaks simulated pools of congealed blood. I felt compelled to draw a chalk outline around the saucer, but angry splotches started appearing on my leg, searing my nerve endings in pain. I hobbled to my couch with after sun aloe and a wet, cold towel.
As I lay in agony, I could still smell the infernal cobbler.
Who knew it was such a fiendish fruit pie.