I'm going to try and post more often, because I do enjoy it and it does act as a vent for my crazy, without which I can be found sporadically performing the robot dance for strangers, speaking animatedly to myself about the benefits of writing on a banana as opposed to paper, saying "shmanoop, shmanoop, shmanoop" as I descend the stairs (never as I ascend; that would be wrong.) and holding in depth conversations with my pet rabbit about how he "looks suave today" and how he is "big boned and not fat."
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| If you squint really hard, it doesn't look blurry. Jeags (black) was a supercool bun. Unfortunately he got ill, and we had to send him to bunny heaven. He had a good life though, and was well loved. Speckles (white) is now a massive, but lovely fatty. |
So, now that you know I'm alive, let me tell you about The Time I Almost Set the House Alight.
I've been on a bit of a health kick of late. This involves exercising more, avoiding easter eggs*, and cooking wholesome, healthy food. This often involves using the oven. Now, me and ovens don't really see eye to eye; ovens reach high temperatures, often have open flames or unguarded hot parts and I am spatially retarded, totally clumsy, and unfortunately not flame-proof.
On the first night of my health kick I decided to cook for myself. Bear in mind that we have recently moved back into Chris's (the boyfriend) mum's house and this was the first time I had used her oven.
"Give me a shout if you set anything on fire," said Chris, as he left me to my cooking in the kitchen.
"Oh that's highly unlikely. The worst thing that will happen is I'll burn the chicken, ha ha ha." Said I, switching on the overhead grill.
It was only when I saw the first drip of melted grey plastic that I realised something was amiss.
Sure, I had noticed an ominous burning smell, but thought nothing of it, minus a brief check of the bottom of the oven to check nothing had caught.
I quickly removed the plastic wash basket that had been left on the top of the grill. Or at least I would have moved it, if it wasn't sticking to the grill-top in gloopy grey strands. In the end I compromised by separating the liquid part of the basket, from the solid, placing the solid part on the floor, and switching off the grill in the hope that the remainder of the basket would return to its solid form, so I could remove it from where it had moulded its self from the grill.
That was when I noticed the flames.
There is nothing dignified about informing your boyfriend's family that you have set their oven on fire.
Fortunately the flames were just some left-over basket that was still burning under the grill hood and not, in fact, a full on fire, as I had lead the family to believe when I screamed up the stairs; "FIRE! I REALLY WISH I WASN'T SAYING THIS, BUT THERE'S A FIRE!!!" The oven was fine in the end; the melted wash basket came off it and everything! And I still got to eat my meal! So technically it was a roaring success!
Thankfully Chris's mum is one of the most forgiving people on earth. (Although I think she wanted to kill me when she came in the kitchen 2 weeks later to find me cooking with the replacement basket still on top of the hood of the grill. I really must remember to move it in future.)
In the grand scheme of things though, my 'cooking success' to 'oven fire' ratio is quite small; only around 500:2**, so technically I'm like a kitchen safety expert.
*I'm not very good at this bit. I've already had two practise eggs. Technically one was a white chocolate cow, and we all know that cows need eliminating anyway (in any form, even chocolate), and that if it isn't egg shaped it doesn't count as an Easter egg, and therefore contains MUCH less calories. It's practically health food,*** so yey me.
** The great burger fire of '05 takes my oven fire total up to two.
***I'm pretty certain this is scientific fact. Also anything with fruit and nut in the ingredients is a winner, health-wise.****
****This font is really fucking tiny. It hurts my eyes. I'm sorry for writing in it.
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