I am a danger to myself and others.
Tonight Bryan and I were listening to the Beatles' Abbe Road album and having a mini-dance party when I decided I wanted some tea. I went into the kitchen and turned on the burner under the kettle and ran back into the living room to polka with Steve. A few seconds later I noticed that the room was filling up with smoke and it smelled TERRIBLE. I realized I'd turned the wrong burner on, and I was heating the mostly empty pan we'd just cooked the salmon in, and the remnants of salmon and rice had turned black and were actively burning.
I turned off the stove, lit the correct burner, turned on the fan and ran to the window to open it a crack. Unfortunately, we had a candelabra fixture thingey on the window sill. It was a housewarming gift that was technically left over from Laura and Andy's wedding, which is the only conceivable reason we'd have a candelabra in this house since we have so many cats. (Usually we burn incense--which also fills the house with smoke, but it's much BETTER smelling smoke.)
When I pushed the window up, it knocked the candelabra off the sill and six glass encased votive candles fell to the ground. One shattered, sending glass everywhere. I was just about to slip my feet into a pair of shoes I keep on the side landing when Bryan thundered into the kitchen behind me screaming "don't move!" He hoisted me up by the waist and physically removed me from the danger zone. I pointed out to him that 1)he was wearing socks and 2)is diabetic and is therefore no more safe in broken glass than I am, but I think he's so used to bodily removing me from the scenes of my own destruction that it's sort of a Pavlovian reflex by now.
OK, so maybe the reason we don't own candelabra thingeys has less to do with the cats and more to do with me. I am going to blame my mother, since I seem to have inherited this from her.
I turned off the stove, lit the correct burner, turned on the fan and ran to the window to open it a crack. Unfortunately, we had a candelabra fixture thingey on the window sill. It was a housewarming gift that was technically left over from Laura and Andy's wedding, which is the only conceivable reason we'd have a candelabra in this house since we have so many cats. (Usually we burn incense--which also fills the house with smoke, but it's much BETTER smelling smoke.)
When I pushed the window up, it knocked the candelabra off the sill and six glass encased votive candles fell to the ground. One shattered, sending glass everywhere. I was just about to slip my feet into a pair of shoes I keep on the side landing when Bryan thundered into the kitchen behind me screaming "don't move!" He hoisted me up by the waist and physically removed me from the danger zone. I pointed out to him that 1)he was wearing socks and 2)is diabetic and is therefore no more safe in broken glass than I am, but I think he's so used to bodily removing me from the scenes of my own destruction that it's sort of a Pavlovian reflex by now.
OK, so maybe the reason we don't own candelabra thingeys has less to do with the cats and more to do with me. I am going to blame my mother, since I seem to have inherited this from her.
posted at 8:38 PM
5 Comments:
This is why we don't have nice things.
Damn, your husband is so manly and protective. Lucky... my bride is going to have to deal with me and my distaste for killing bugs.
Garvin, best comment ever....
...until I leave a witty one.
Blaming your mother=NOT cool.
I suppose it's *my* fault that you also "have the plague"...?
No, you blame this one on God, the One who made you and me "girly", with the resultant hormones that cause us to be even MORE less-than-graceful a few days each month over and above our USUAL amount of uncoordinativity... (Yes, I've invented a new word. It means "the birth of clumsiness"...)
(BTW, WTG, son-in-law! You rock!!)
Should I blame grandpa instead? He gave it to both of us.
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