The Two Guilty Parties
Yesterday the house almost burned down. Well, not almost, exactly but... closer then the house would like.
It all began with an earnest desire on Kaje's part for a warmed roll from Texas Roadhouse. He came running in to me while I was
A few minutes later he comes running into the room, waving his arms above his head -- I'm not joking about this -- and pant/screamed "I PRESSED 1-2-6-0-START! I PRESSED 1-2-6-0-START!" I was sortof confused at what he meant until he screamed "SMOKE!!!" Now smoke is a word I understand, and we both went high-tailing it into the kitchen/front room area, which was filling with smoke. I ran to the microwave -- which was actually billowing with smoke -- and then, because I am not a trained firefighter -- opened the door to see if there were flames. There were not, but thick black smoke came billowing into the room. I slammed the door shut, gathered my courage, unplugged the apparatus, put on hot pads, and exited the building with 7-year-old wedding gift microwave in my arms. I opened it out on the lawn to let the smoke out and see the blackened rotating plate and the char-broiled roll melted onto it.
It's sad, really. I chastised my son then hugged him 'cause I was so glad we were all still alive and my house was standing. Thank you for not letting my house burn down, Powers That Be.
Later in the day Kaje was sitting on the couch and said "Hey, Mom. Remember when you got mad and yelled at me 'cause I almost started a fire in the microwave?" Why yes, Kaje. I do remember that. Thank you for bringing it up.
I never knew how much the microwave makes our world go round. I miss you, cancer-causing agent.