Feb. 26th, 2013

fajrdrako: (Kenzie)


Scrubbed the interior of my oven today.

I'd meant to do that for ages, but it never seemed urgent.

Then yesterday, while I had Lyn and Beulah over for supper, I preheated the oven without noticing that a heavy-duty plastic container lid had fallen onto the bottom of the oven. Next I knew, my oven was on fire. Or, at least, the plastic inside it was.

So I was trying to find the baking soda to douse the flames, and trying to reach the fire alarm to disable it before it went off and disrupted the whole apartment building. The alarm is above he bedroom door, so it means getting a stepstool and crossing the hallway.I didn't want to frighten my guests, though I maybe screeched a little when I first saw the flames. "It's okay," I said to them, as I dashed past to the fire alarm with stool in hand, "My kitchen's on fire a little but I've got it under control."

As it happens, Beulah and Lyn are both a little bit deaf, and as I ran back into the kitchen to make sure the flames were really out, I heard Lyn said, "What did Elizabeth say?"

"I'm not sure," said Beulah.

So I left it at that. I closed up the oven - which now reeked of burned plastic - and cooked my meatballs on the top of the stove.

But this meant that, today, the job of scrubbing the oven could be put off no longer. I rolled up my sleeves and go to work, listening to an audiobook and trying not to feel grumpy about it. It was harder work than I'd hoped, especially peeling, chipping and scraping off the hardened fragments of melted plastic, but now it's done. And I won't leave it so long before I do it again.

No, really.

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