Monday, February 2, 2009

A Sign

The other night, Larry came home late from work. We had some leftover pizza in the freezer, so that became his dinner. I had already eaten my (disappointingly bad) salad, so as I reheated individually wrapped slices in the toaster oven, my thoughts went from "Carbs are so nasty." to "I FUCKING WANT ONE!"

After bringing pizza up to Larry, I crept back down to the kitchen and grabbed a slice from the freezer.

"What are you doing?" asked the food police Larry.
"Nothing!" I lied.

The tin foil felt a little slippery with pizza grease, but I ignored it.

I put the slice in and waited. There is no TV in the living room yet (just upstairs in the bedroom where Larry was), so I just sort of poked around the dining area.

For some reason, I happened to be staring directly at the toaster oven, when the grease ignited.

"OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!" I yelled, opening the door and blowing on the flames.

Three quick bursts and it was all over.

"Did the oven catch fire?" asked Larry from upstairs. He was totally calm. Usually, when I freak out about something, I get him freaked out.

He must be used to my food disasters by now.

I took it as a sign that I needed to stay away from pizza - after this slice.

5 comments: said...

Here's a thought: Start a frikkin kitchen disasters blog....holy shit lol said...

Larry sent out poltergeists to ignite the pizza *giggle*

Anonymous said...

...please where can I buy a unicorn?

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