So my sister sent me a box of goodies yesterday from Wolfermans.
There were huge English muffins in there and I decided I needed one. OK, it was one and a half, but I shouldn't have eaten ONE and ONE-HALF of anything.
I have to toast them in the oven, which I hate. Why?
You know why. I hate that gas stove where the gas blows at ya when you turn it on.
So I find this grate thing that sits within a long rectangular tray.
I decide to use the grate only since there was no use in making another pan dirty. I don't have a dishwasher that fills itself, or empties itself either!
Well, I smell those muffins and I think "they must be done." WHY DO I THINK - DOES ANYBODY KNOW??????
I put on my trusty oven mitt and try to pull the grate out of the oven. It has legs. Yes, I own a grate that can walk if it wants.
Geeeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzzzzzzzzz - so I am pulling on this thing trying to get those muffins on my plate. One of the legs has gone through my oven grate and this has now taken on a life of its own. You have me yelling at everything stove-related; you have that stupid grate stuck in my oven shelf, and then.............
You have an OVEN MITT on fire.
Yes, on fire.
Yes, with huge flames on the glove.
And me screaming.
Yes, screaming.
I am a-scared of fire.
I see the extinguisher, but I don't know how to work it anyway.
Micro must have been praying for me because I did stick my flaming glove under the faucet and I also remembered to turn on the water.
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That's ok. Last week I convinced myself that I had covid-19, except it had advanced in age and it was covid-20, and almost covid-21.
I know none of you noticed that I am having a nervous breakdown.
ohgod.
I have to go to bed now. I wore myself out at the store and telling you that story.
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