It started last Sunday. I cracked an egg on the edge of the sink since it has a better edge than the bowl. Since I usually drop the eggshell’s contents into the container I’m cracking it on, I went ahead and dropped the egg down the drain.
No big deal. Just an egg.
An hour later, I had filled R’s cup of coffee partway at a cafe when the carafe ran empty. I put a lid on the cup and picked up a full carafe at the counter. Then I pumped boiling hot coffee onto the lid of the cup to fill it up. Caffeinated chaos all over the counter. Burned my hand.
OK. Fine. Accidents happen. Clamp down. Move on.
We were on our way to the beach so A. could have a little fling with the sand. Halfway there we had to turn around because she was crying so hard in the backseat. Teething? Maybe. The risk of being in proximity to a large body of water with me? Smart.
Back home, the neighbors were coming by for dinner, so I started a dessert that involves melting butter in the cake pan in the oven. The pan slips, spilling liquid butter into the oven. Which caught on fire. Not a whoopsie little “fire” either. Actual foot-high flames in the oven. I closed the oven door and just looked at it. I wasn’t surprised. I know where the fire extinguisher is, but what was the point? It would’ve exploded. Or melted. Something. So we all just stood there looking at the flaming oven.
Eventually the fire went out. Good to know. Just stand still so it can’t tell you’re there.
Then I put a spoon down the garbage disposal.
Then I went to bed.
The whole week’s been like that. Just one flaming spoon after another. I’m trying to steer clear of sharp corners and pointy objects until I get to bed tonight. Wish me luck.