I've had several posts I'd intended on publishing this week, but for some reason life has temporarily lost its sense of urgency. Oh holidays!Today, I had to post though. Because last night, at approximately 8:23PM, for the first time ever, I caught something in my kitchen on fire.
It started out innocently enough; I was making a barbecue chicken pizza for dinner. I'd just reached into the oven to rotate the pan when IT happened.
I'd like to think that I reacted the most appropriate way possible: I screamed...not in a shrilly girl way, but in more of a medium pitched, almost-grisly way. It was like I channeled all of the terror from my mind down through my mouth and body. The scream catapulted me forward towards the flames, into the open oven where my adorable floral oven mitt was waving a flag of smokey defeat. In one fluid motion, I snagged a corner of it, tossed it into the (empty--thank goodness) sink, and slammed on the water.
In bed last night, I thanked God for galley kitchens.
(And the pizza was great, in case you were wondering...)
Oh geez, I feel like this happened because you stood in my kitchen and we JUST talked about this! I'm glad everything (with the exception of your oven mitt) is ok! When it happened to me it was a lot more cursing than actual screaming. Both valid reactions.
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