The other day, I was heating up some leftovers for my lunch in the microwave.
It appears my finger stuttered when I set the time (and I had to manually set the time because I wanted to use a lower power setting – which maybe saved me and the house).
And then I go back to the computer and start doing my thing (meaning, useless fucking around).
After a bit, I realize that my throat is burning and I am coughing.
The fuck is the house was full of smoke!
(No, I don’t know why the smoke alarm did not go off.)
Because I had a fan blowing on me at the computer, most of the smoke had stayed away from me, allowing me to blithely keep fucking around on the computer while my lunch burned.
I turn off the microwave, pull out the charcoal briquette that was going to be my lunch and dump it in the sink and douse it with cold water (kudos to my Corelle
plates for not shattering) and open all the windows and doors and start fans blowing.
The blessing is actual flames were not involved.
But it took well over a week to get the smoke smell out of the house.
And I don’t know if we’ll ever get the smoke smell out of the microwave.
My poor husband, who was on a walk while I was odorizing our home, came back to a smelly smelly house.
I’m pretty sure he’s keeping a list of fat old lady facilities to put me in; and I can’t blame him a bit.