And then I decided to go to the grocery store.
When I got home I realized my eggs were still on the stove... boiling their little hearts out. I had completely forgotten about them. It happened in less than a minute. I mean, I literally turned the stove on and forgot about the damn eggs.
It happened like this: I needed pork roast for dinner and it needed to go into the slow cooker so time was of the essence. It was urrrrrrrgent.
I asked the King if he needed anything from the auto parts store, the gas station or the grocery store and set out to get my pork roast and refill two gas cans.
Mind you, the whole circuit from the house to the grocery store to the gas station and back probably took me less than 15 minutes (the perks of a small town), but I can't believe I completely forgot about my eggs and left the house.
Getting old is not for the faint of heart.
So we survived that one. No fire. The eggs were as edible as eggs ever are (I had to eat egg whites with salt and pepper and I DID NOT LIKE IT but I will stick to this diet no matter what!).
Cut to lunch.
I don't normally use the broiler. Mostly because I don't understand it. I mean, how long do you typically broil things? Who knows? Not me. So I use it to melt cheese when I make nachos, but that's the extent of my broiling expertise.
So why do I mention my broiler? Because I actually attempted to use it this afternoon. And now I know why it's not my method of choice.
You see, I was cooking steak. The recipe said to broil it for seven minutes... seven minutes. Seven minutes isn't a long time really. But it's long enough... to start a fire.
Yep. My steaks caught on fire. Actually, a puddle of liquified fat pooling around the steaks caught fire.
No, I don't have a picture to post.
I thought about it, because it's not something you see every day. But I figured I'd rather save the house from burning down than have a picture to show you - and I stand by that decision.
First I assumed turning the broiler off and leaving the oven door closed might smother the fire (depriving it of oxygen). That was not the case. It seemed quite content to thrive in there, mocking me (I swear I heard Disco Inferno coming from behind the oven door).
Removing the flaming pan from the oven seemed like the worst possible idea... so Plan B was to remove the steaks with tongs then smother the fire with an overturned skillet. Didn't get to fully execute that plan because when the King reached in with the tongs and moved the steak, the fire went out on its own. Sometime it's good to be married to a (volunteer) fireman. But I had the skillet all ready just in case, and I'm pretty sure that would have worked.
If it hadn't worked, Plan C was to employ the fire extinguisher, but I didn't want to waste the steak if I could help it. Thank goodness I didn't have to. It was delicious. Not worth burning the house down, but tasty nonetheless.
Oh to still be working at NASA where I would actually have a safety moment to share that would entertain and delight my co-workers... a nice change from "be careful when you're driving because other people are crazy," which was pretty much the default.
So anyway, three days into what turns out to be a diet that could apparently kill me if I'm not vigilant, I am three pounds down. So far, so good. And most of the food is good. I'm not a fan of eggs (really weird since I want chickens, I know, the Queen is a riddle wrapped in an enigma painted on a puzzle).
Speaking of puzzles. I purchased a rabbit hutch from a clearance store for $5. I know, right? I was all excited. Then it sat in the closet for about six months. Today the King attempted to put it together. There were no instructions but the King is a clever man.
He declared it a cheap piece of crap.
So we won't use it for rabbits because it's probably too flimsy, but I'm thinking sometimes chickens need a place to themselves when they get pasty butt or they eat too much and their legs temporarily won't support them (yes! I've been reading about chickens!). So instead of a rabbit hutch, this little cottage will be the quarantine house where chickens can go to be alone and collect their thoughts, relax... get broody. Whatevs.
These are some of the treats we give to the royal hounds. They help Daisy Bear not produce the ass juice. So they are the most awesome thing ever. These and the no scoot pumpkin/flax treats. And the dogs love them so it's win-win.
Why am I telling you about them? Because the King was examining the package and say this.
So... that's good to know. You know, in case you wanted to wash it. For whatever reason.
And finally, a new bird has made an appearance in the royal garden! Welcome little bird.
The back yard is looking so good now. The tree has been cut up and moved, a lot of the weeds have been hacked down. We may even be getting a tiller soon (bartering is the best thing ever) and I can finally plant my flower garden and start landscaping the front yard. I have plants that I have been keeping alive in preparation for this very event! I have hostas and coleus and rosemary and thyme... oh boy! And then I have seeds... it's going to be so much fun to see how it all turns out.
Well kiddos, Daisy Bear says this day is over and she is glad. I wholeheartedly agree...
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