Dining With the Smoke Detector: Conclusion

 

Part I (here).

The front door was open to let out the smoke, making it unnecessary for the firemen to sink their axes into it.

     

A George Clooney look-a-like said, “We were just driving by on a grocery run and saw all the smoke. Is everything okay?”

     

Before I could answer, Mrs. C., wrapped in a wet towel, appeared at the top of the stairs. “What’s going on? Why is the smoke detector going…” Her voice trailed off at the sight of firemen standing in our foyer. She may have giggled. I’m sure she did. She would later deny it. 

     

“Sorry, guys,” I said, “but it’s just a small grease fire, nothing to worry about.”

As it turned out, there was much to worry about. Read more (here).

Dining With the Smoke Detector

 

I should have listened to the little voice in my head telling me to keep my mouth shut. Before I knew it I was in deep water. “Why don’t you take the evening off?” I said to my wife. “I’ll cook dinner tonight.”

     

“I don’t feel like spaghetti or tacos,” she said, ruling out my specialties.

     

“Very funny. I can cook other stuff.”

     

She leaned forward on her stool at the kitchen counter where she was balancing our checkbook. “Like what?” She looked amused.

    

“You like pot roast, don’t you?”

     

“It’s rather complicated. Tell you what; go ahead and make your spaghetti.”

     

Under no circumstances was I going to make spaghetti, which in my case meant opening a jar. “Pot roast it is!”

     

“Making pot roast isn’t as easy as you think.”

     

I shrugged. “I grew up on pot roast, and I’ve seen you make it often enough. How hard can it be?”    

     

As it turned out, pretty darn hard. Read about it (here.)