This is the something more exciting I promised to write.
While my life doesn’t have a lot more adventure than it did before, Mark’s life has become more chaotic living with me.
It’s like a story from Anne of Green Gables, the story of how I nearly burnt down the apartment.
On my way home from work I decided that I was going to get the fixings for and make fried pickles. Mark enjoys fried pickles and I also like them. I wanted to make them for him.
I almost dropped the groceries several times. In fact, I lost some seasoning and a couple eggs from a spill. When I finally got home I filled a pan full of vegetable oil and set the burner on high.
There I was, slicing pickles and preparing the breading. I was stressing about work because, seriously, Dosha (the salon I worked at the time) sucked. All of the sudden I heard a WOOSH. I looked over and the vegetable oil had burst into flame. I teeter-tottered from one foot to the other trying to figure out what to do. We had no baking soda, no flour, no fire extinguisher and I didn’t know what to do. I realized that if I took it out into the middle of the street there would be nothing to catch on fire and someone would either be able to help me put it out or it would burn out itself. I ran out the door with a two foot column of flame towering from the pot that I carried.
As I carried this column of flame out the door, Mark was getting home from work. He said he saw the flame from a distance and thought it was a Tiki torch. I see him and look down and see the outdoor faucet.
Clearly I have heard that one should never use water on a grease fire. I’ve heard this so many times. I never really believed it apparently. Really I was just not thinking. I set the column of fire on the ground and turned on the faucet.
Of course the two foot column of fire turned into a three or four foot column. I was freaking out and panicking. Yes, the redundancy of that sentence is warranted. Mark told me to go inside and find a blanket. I was coughing like crazy from the smoke. I could not find a blanket due to not having one or not being clear minded enough to find one. Mark told me to go back inside.
I went back inside and realized that the apartment was filled with smoke. I started looking for Comet; scared that he was suffocating from the smoke. I could not find him. I ran back outside as Mark threw his jacket on the robust fire. The fire went out. Comet was fine under the bed.
“Welcome to living with me,” I told Mark.
So Mark, welcome to the adventure or nightmare of living with me. You can choose its label.
…and a picture of Comet because that should make everyone happy.