So, you wake up at home on Christmas morning, just me and sweetie lounging around watching Charlie and The Chocolate factory, waiting for the coffee to be done. Your nose picks up the scent of burning plastic, and, being more awake than you thought you were, you stumble down the stairs at high speed, walk into the kitchen and look to see what's going on.
You look out into the sunroom and see two feet of black smoke above two feet of grey brown smoke, and see that the switch on the ancient coffee maker you've been trying to wear out before buying a new one has decided to short out and melt the whole damn thing, then light fire to the melted remains, the plastic tablecloth it's sitting on, and is about to light fire to the whole house, and you think three things.
one: HOLY FUCK!
two: WHERE'S THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER?
three: TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND BLAST THOSE FLAMES!
Then you spend the rest of the day airing the house out, cleaning the sunporch and thinking about just how much too close to disaster you were.
On the plus side, my firefighter pal did give me a new fire extinguisher this afternoon, and said I did ok.
And I thought this christmas was going to be drama free because I stayed home with sweetie and didn't do blood family stuff. Go figure.
And yes, I know I should have not waited so long to blog again, Tom. What can I say, I'm a bum.