So the whole photo-a-day for the next 365 days thing that I started earlier this month is now a total flop.
I think I made it seven days before I gave up.
But I knew that would happen. And I even told y’all that it would happen. So no one’s disappointed, right? Okay, good. Moving on. (My pictures now would just be of classrooms and textbooks anyway. Can you say bor-ring?)
I do have another iPhone photo for y’all though. A photo and a story involving muffins and fire.
This is my multitasking, multi-talented friend. As you can see, she is stirring two bowls of muffin mix at one time.
She was quickly throwing together some muffins for a breakfast-for-dinner party we were going to last night. And me, being my always-ready-to-help self assisted her in putting said muffins in the oven.
So far, so good. Baking muffins is not hard.
Or so you would think.
But just leave it up to me and I will find a sure-fire way to make everything difficult. It’s a problem.
Fast-forward about ten minutes to when my friend asked me to check the muffins and pull them out of the oven. And here’s where things get messy (literally).
For some cotton-pickin’ reason the muffin tins were on the middle rack with the top rack practically sitting right on top of them. Anybody seeing a problem yet?
I grabbed a hot pad and began to pull the muffin tins out of the oven. Somewhere in the two and a half seconds it takes to pull muffins out of the oven I forgot about the inconveniently located top rack and rammed the soft and delicate muffins into multiple bars of hot, angry metal.
I was so distressed about the muffins that I dropped the hot pad… onto the oven coil, of course, and didn’t realize that it caught on fire.
That’s right. I set the hot pad on fire.
All of a sudden the kitchen was smoky, things started smelling bad and people were yelling at me, “Hey Kristy. The hot pad’s on fire!”
Say what? Oh shoot, the hot pad’s on fire.
I’m pretty quick on the uptake. Just sayin’.
So I dropped the muffins, grabbed the fiery inferno hot pad and started beating it against the kitchen cabinet.
The fire went out. We turned on the vent. The smoke alarm didn’t go off (thank goodness) and everything was fine.
Well, except the muffins.
I had successfully decapitated them.
But my friend and I threw them in a Tupperware container (ok, maybe not threw. We were gentle. Those muffins had been through a lot at that point.) and went to our brinner party.
We ate, we drank and were merry. And I learned to always put muffins on the top rack. And not to drop hot pads on oven coils.
Evidently I didn’t learn those lessons the first time when I was five like a normal child.
But what about me has ever been normal?