Here's another post from Emelie detailing one of our events this morning. A couple qualifiers... 1) Emelie can cook. She's a great cook! Perhaps she just doesn't always pay attention to details. 2) Until she laid eyes on the specimin below, she was actually planning on eating the thing. The smell of things burning is delicious to her. She backed down from that position.
Ok, so I can't cook. I left out the salt in the biscuits tonight, and that was my fault. But, my self-esteem is still intact.
Because.... I'm not the only one who sets food on fire.
To be politically correct (a new attitude for me) there was no fire. But there was smoke. Copious amounts of smoke. All from one tortilla and one-minute, forty-five seconds in a toasting oven.
Basically, I hate oatmeal. So I scrounge in the kitchen for whatever other food is left over from last night's dinner. This morning, it was tortillas left over from turkey ranch wraps (they were delicious! I didn't make them!). And I hate food that bends. So I toasted mine a little, so it was a nice, striped-brown, tortilla brisket.
Whatever I do is pure genius in the eyes of my siblings. Suddenly, everyone in the free world wanted a tortilla just like me. Mom was toasting tortillas and toasting tortillas, until, she tried to make one for Teddy.
I was getting ready to go out and take care of the horses when all of a sudden, this overwhelming, dirty, gritty smell comes pouring through the house. I run out, and the oven's open and smoke is escaping out. The whole kitchen is hazy and smells like...um, smoke. Teddy's got a pizza box and is waving it around the smoke alarm, trying to keep Heidi asleep, Mom's trying to open the doors to let the smoke out, I'm confused and just standing there.
It took like 15 minutes for the smoke to clear and the oxygen masks could come off. Mom finally opened the oven, and, among the last gasps of smoke, was this tar-pit tortilla. It was so burnt that it had gone rock hard crispy, and then soft and gummy again. It was full of ginormous air bubbles, and looked sentient. I was sort of genuinely scared. If life could have evolved from inanimate matter, it would come from charcoaled tortillas.
Because it's human nature to feel emboldened by the failure of others, I was feeling pretty good at the end of this experience. Tortillas are my nemises (I've been banned from the microwave twice and the oven once for setting tortillas on fire. We're talking flames!). But today, we had a smoke-induced panic attack and it wasn't my fault.
Now isn't that a good day?
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