It doesn't even qualify as an adventure.
Feb. 18th, 2009 05:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wondersheepI pulled the ratty tea towel off the handle of the oven, folded it up, and opened the oven door. The skins of my potatoes were nicely golden, so I used the folded towel to pull the cookie sheet out.
I placed the sheet on the stovetop and tossed the towel onto the counter. The parmesan-potato guts mixture was in a bowl, ready to be spooned into the skins.
Something flickering in the corner of my eye. I looked, and the tea towel was on fire.
I flipped it completely open, and then folded it one-two-three, then went back to filling my potatoes.
I didn't cuss, I didn't panic, I didn't even get an adrenaline jolt. I just smothered the flames and went back to my dinner.
But never again doubt that I set things on FIRE!
(I'm also not telling my landlord and other roommate. Because they are the type of people who a, do not cook a lot, and b, freak right the fuck out over the most ridiculous silly things. Like small, easily contained kitchen fires.)
I placed the sheet on the stovetop and tossed the towel onto the counter. The parmesan-potato guts mixture was in a bowl, ready to be spooned into the skins.
Something flickering in the corner of my eye. I looked, and the tea towel was on fire.
I flipped it completely open, and then folded it one-two-three, then went back to filling my potatoes.
I didn't cuss, I didn't panic, I didn't even get an adrenaline jolt. I just smothered the flames and went back to my dinner.
But never again doubt that I set things on FIRE!
(I'm also not telling my landlord and other roommate. Because they are the type of people who a, do not cook a lot, and b, freak right the fuck out over the most ridiculous silly things. Like small, easily contained kitchen fires.)
