I live by the theory that if we only had good days we’d never really appreciate them…because we wouldn’t know the difference. So every once in a while it’s okay to embrace a day of complete chaos where nothing turns out as it should. Then we can really understand the value of a good day.
Okay, with that said, I bet you can guess what kind of tale you’ll see here tonight. That’s right. Another awkward, silly, can’t-believe-that-just-happened story of my life. Like I told you last week when I shared my jeans and biscuits and gravy tales {didn’t read them?…you need to} when something embarrassing happens my first thought is anger/never-tell-anyone. Then I cool off and realize just how entertaining it was. To be sure that this was worth relaying to you I tested it out on my classes today at the gym. Their reaction assured me that you too will enjoy this nugget of crazy.
It all happened on Saturday. The spouses from Derek’s squadron were getting together for our monthly social at a paint your own pottery place downtown. {Margies. If you live in Minot, you really need to go.} Everyone was asked to bring a dessert or appetizer to share. I volunteered on the dessert side {greedily thinking I’d be able to binge on the leftovers with a white russian late at night.}
I found an awesome recipe for snicker-doodle blondies. {The recipe is pinned to my get-togethers board.} So I whipped them up put them in the pan and into the oven. Obviously I licked the bowl. Boy was that batter a delight.
While the blondies were baking I decided I’d turn the kettle on and have a cup of tea while watching some Dateline online. No big deal. I should also mention in here that we have an electric range. I prefer gas. Why, you ask…one primary reason: You can immediately tell what burner you’ve switched on. Yes, my friends…I’m foreshadowing.
I got so into the Dateline mystery that I didn’t even think about my tea. That show is good. Am I right? The timer went off and the blondies were done. I pulled them out. They were truly a vision of perfection. I sat the pan {a glass 9×13 pyrex} across the burners on the stove to cool. I went back to the couch. A few minutes later I remembered the kettle and wondered why it hadn’t gone off. About this same moment, Derek asked if I smelled smoke.
Yes…yes I did.
Into the kitchen we ran to see the blondies smoking. I grabbed a towel and lifted it above my head. Sure enough, I flipped on the wrong burner. The kettle was stone cold, and I had sat my pan on a very hot burner. Through the glass on the bottom of the pan I could see a perfect circle of black, burnt blondies. Woof.
To get the smoke out I took the pan outside and set it on the deck. Once the kitchen was clear I brought the pan back in. You think the story’s over? Not even close.
As the glass cooled further something awful happened: the pan exploded. Glass and sugary delight went everywhere. Pan ruined, dessert ruined even more.
Being quick on my feet I pulled a carton of strawberries out of the fridge and chocolate chips from the cupboard. I was taking a dessert, darn it. I put the chips in a small bowl and put them in the microwave, stirring every 30 seconds. Well, the bowl got too hot on the last 30 and the chocolate burned into gross clumpy ball.
It’s now 10 minutes until I need to leave. I’ve given up on dessert. When my friend Allison arrived to pick me up she stepped inside and said, “Uh, did something burn?” She’s too sweet…she should have said, “What the heck, it smells like burnt hair and black marshmallows in here.” Not to even touch on the fact that the whole house was still very cloudy and hazy from the disasters that had just occurred.
Pottery painting was fun. And there was so much food my single dessert wasn’t missed and I didn’t offer up an explanation for why I showed up empty handed. {I was still in the never-tell phase.}
I got home and decided to make potato soup for dinner. {Yes, the madness continues.} Everything in the house smelled like burnt sugar; my hair, my clothes, the couch cushions. Yuck. But we must persevere. So I peeled potatoes. No big deal. I’m sure even a well trained monkey can do that…let alone a college educated 26 year old wife. I picked up my last potato. Peel, peel, peel, rip.
I caught the peeler on my middle fingernail and ripped it. Not like, “Oh I broke a nail.” I’m taking seriously ripped. Blood gushing. Nail torn 1/3 of the way to the nail bed and half way across. That was it. Cooking fail number three in less than twelve hours. I couldn’t even believe it.
The story has a happy ending though. The potato soup {minus one bloody potato} was delightful. The blood finally stopped. We had friends over to play euchre and Derek and I won. Then we played rummy and I cleaned up on that too.
Not that this story will change your life, but as always when I share these moments from my life I hope they bring you a little smile and some laughter. The value of days like this is priceless because it really does teach us to cherish our “average” days.
Amy
PS…Are you guys watching Downton Abby? I couldn’t even believe last night’s episode!! Yikes!
