I think at this point we have established that ofttimes I find myself in situations other people just don't encounter . . . and so it was Saturday.
I found myself alone at the grocery store. I have sort of mixed feelings about this. When we go as a family it takes a long time. If I go alone, I risk hearing, "What did you get that is good?" Well, this Saturday I was enjoying my time in the grocery store. I was texting friends and studying olives. It was quiet and lovely.
I got home and set my reuseable shopping bag on top of my flat top stove. Do we see where this is going? I went back to my texting conversation until I smelled something hot. I looked up and saw that my groceries were on fire because someone had knocked the burner on.
Now . . . instead of calmly grabbing the fire extinguisher, I grabbed the hot bag intending to throw it in the sink. Alas, the bottom had burned through the bag sending melted groceries and bits of flaming hot bag to the floor. I ran to open the doors and windows and when I came back into the kitchen I stepped on a piece of melting reusable shopping bag.
Now. . . instead of calmly calling my husband and explaining how my foot was on fire, I did this, "BRENT! BRENT! BRENT! BRENT!" And I sort of held up my foot.
Now . . . my husband is a thinker. It's one of the many things I love about him. He doesn't leap into things which provides the stability our relationship needs when I want to jump in head first. Alas, it took him a moment to assess the situation and analyze the options. I felt it took too long. I want him to grab my foot and stick it under the kitchen tap . . . but . . . well . . . that was the eventual choice he made.
This all took seconds, mind you.
At any rate, all turned out all right. Everything cleaned up just fine. I have a blister shaped like Delaware on the bottom of my foot and I fear by the time it heals flip flop season will be over BUT -- really -- this all could have been so much worse. I (or the house) could have gotten really burned AND Chuck Taylors go with everything. Who needs flip flops?