Let the record show that Hick and Val have been married for 30 years. During that epoch, Val has accumulated, under her apron belt, several years' worth of time in the kitchen. Hick...not so much. Unless he is grilling out on the porch, or making his own hot dogs in the microwave, Hick leaves the food prep to Val. The kitchen is a foreign territory to him. Might as well plop him down in Outer Mongolia without a topographic map.
During our last
Tuesday evening, I came upstairs to prepare supper, and found
...my loyal, aged oven mitt with a 3rd degree burn! I concede that Mitty wasn't pretty. He gave me many good years, hanging on a hook of the cutting block accumulating layers of washed-and-dried grease, yet still protecting my dainty hands daily as I stuck them into the oven. So beloved was Mitty that his replacements remain clipped together and drawered away from Christmases past.
Anyhoo...when this most-recent wrongdoing was brought to Hick's attention, he DENIED BURNING MITTY!
I assure you, no matter how many odd footsteps and inexplicable noises I hear upstairs overnight, the only two people in this house are VAL and HICK. I am quite sure that I did not catch Mitty on fire. That leaves only one other source of his injury. Let me spell that out for you: H I C K.
Hick vehemently protested my
I may or may not have had a sarcastic edge when I said, "Huh. I sure don't remember setting fire to my oven mitt, which I've used without incident, almost daily, for so many years."
"I know! You don't remember ANYTHING!"
My vast sarcasm repertoire is lost on Hick.
I've denied a screw up or two in my time, but fire is difficult to deny. Mrs., from anywhere, would have smelled the burning before I could put it out.
ReplyDeleteOh, no! I hope I haven't lost my sense of smell! That's one of the 2,311 symptoms of the VIRUS!
DeleteTo be fair, I was in my dark basement lair when it happened. So the char must have dissipated over the 7 or 8 hours before I went upstairs at 4:00 a.m. And I didn't need Mitty until supper the next day.
I'm pretty upset that the smoke alarm didn't go off. Since it does even when I open an empty oven after pre-heating! Maybe my conspiracy videos were too loud...
I think a memorial service and burial are in order.
ReplyDeletePlease forgive me if you are not invited. I figure that after the bury-ee, and my own self, there are only 8 other folks allowed.
DeleteOut My window, are you referring to Hick?
ReplyDeleteWe all know it was Hick, so I'm hoping his guilty conscience troubles him until he finally concedes he 'may' have accidentally burned Mitty, probably ten years from now. I have a favourite pair of oven mitts too, so old they are worn through at the finger tips so I wear them on the opposite hands now so the less worn parts are being used. I don't want to buy new ones, because they don't make elbow length ones anymore and only use plain colours, while mine are gaily striped and cheerful. I'll buy some quilted fabric and patch the fingers areas of them instead.
ReplyDeleteIf only I could select you all for Hick's jury! I would reserve the slots of judge and executioner for myself, of course.
DeleteMitty was already getting worn, but not enough for his stuffing to show. I hope your mitts survive their "plastic surgery" and give you more years of enjoyment!
I cannot read your posts early in the morning. You have a burned mitt. I have burned nostrils from snorting my coffee. AND I made my husband listen as I read your post. Write a book!
ReplyDeleteHick is a regular arsonist in denial. Now he has burned your nostrils! Be careful reading Hick's exploits to Bill. He sure doesn't need any new ideas!
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