Monday of last week, and again on Thursday night, I cooked dinner. Yes, I realize that is one of the signs of the coming apocalypse when I cook two nights in a week, but the alternative was grading papers, and we all know how I feel about that.
Apparently, Thursday night, something (probably grease) fell off my baking pan and onto the bottom of the oven, unbeknownst to me. So, today when I went to put my typical Saturday lunch of frozen pizza into the oven, the billowing of smoke that came out of said oven was a bit of a surprise. To my eyeballs. Which still hurt from having a bunch of smoke thrust at them while they were unprotected.
This, of course, led to excessive opening of door and window in my apartment (since I only have one window and one door through which my dog would not be able to run out of and onward toward Mexico), in an attempt to prevent the three smoke detectors from going off. Whoever built my apartment and put three smoke detectors in it clearly knew who their future tennant was.
Crisis was averted, and silence remained golden, however I'm a little more than a little alarmed that none of the smoke detectors went off, as the haze of greasy, pizza-y smoke was thick enough to cloud your vision. Or maybe that was still my eyeballs hazed over from their earlier smoky experience.
Oh, and to the driver on Main Street that turned in front of me and nearly sent me straight to see Jesus...well, we're both damn lucky I saw you or we'd both be in a whole heap of hurt right now. You're welcome.