Yesterday, I wrote about how moments matter, and sometimes they impact one’s spirit so much, you can’t ignore them. Case in point, how my husband chooses to cook a frozen pizza. No foil. No pan. Just a pizza positioned directly on the rack. As his lunch was cooking, I smelled the smoke, as it traveled down the hallway to where I was residing. Then the smoke alarm, in said, hallway starts blaring. Chaos ensues with the Bassets trying to find relief from the screeching sound. The culprit….a loan pepperoni that fell and met its demise in a slow, burning death. Nice.
I prepared an early dinner for Bailey since he had softball practice. As the oven preheated, I notice a small amount of smoke seeping out from the heated appliance. Immediately realizing that Brian hadn’t cleaned the burning pepperoni, I turned on the exhaust fan in an effort to relieve the room of the dense cloud that quickly covered the kitchen. Too late. The cloud thickened as all of our smoke detectors expressed their dislike of the situation. A flurry of sentence enhancers flow out of my “angelic” mouth as I work furiously to clean up the mess at the bottom of the oven. I think about how I might have a slight case of smoke inhalation and that my demise will be solely based on a burning pepperoni. Does Bailey come up to see if everything is alright? Nope. Does he hear all of the drama unfolding? Yes, because later, he asked if I was trying to burn the house down. No, son, that would be your delightful father. To which he responds, “you married him”. Cue exaggerated sigh sprinkled with an eye-roll.
I was able to successfully remove the smoking culprit from the oven with a “rest in peace, sad little pepperoni” sendoff as I put it in the garbage. Fresh air was a necessity, and fortunately for me, the Bassets needed to go out for the millionth time. Of course, it was an air quality alert day, so it wasn’t as “fresh” as I would have liked it, but a better option than my smoke filled home. Just another day in my glamorous life. Don’t be jealous.