This is a true story.
It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.
Ok. Fine. It happened to me. Just a moment ago.
It’s 9pm. I forgot to eat dinner. So I leave my writing for a bit and go to the kitchen. Turn on the stove to fry some eggs. Pan is still heating. So I decide to go write a bit. I forget about the stove and continue writing, lost in my world of men in cravats and top hats. But I’m pulled out of my imagination by the sound of the fire alarm. I’m thinking to myself that this alarm is the one I always tend to ignore. The one where the alarm goes on because someone in another house left on their stove for too long. So I’m in no danger, I tell myself, and continue writing. But then common sense kicks in. I frown. This alarm sounds different. This one sounds like–OH BUGGERS. I dash out of my room and go to the kitchen. (I’m in London, there’s fog everywhere!–no wait, it’s smoke!!) I see the pan, set it on the counter (forgetting that this burning hot pan will melt the surface), and panic when seeing spitting flames coming from the stove. I take up this food package and jump around fanning the kitchen. I run around looking for the fire detector. AHHH the noise is killing me. I run around some more. Finally I find the damnable device. Fan it like crazy. And finally, the alarm stops. My cousin comes to me and this is where I realize what a scatterbrain I am. I’m fanning the friggin fire detector while the stove is STILL ON, SPITTING FIRE.
I smell like BBQ now
This post is dedicated to my cousin, Gee, without whom I cannot live. Pity her, friends, for having to live with someone so dangerous like me. *DUN DUN DUN*