This evening as I was making a scrumptious dinner of garlic parmesan salmon, garlic broccoli and mashed sweet potatoes (a la domesticity), Charlie’s kitchen lit on fire.
I claim no responsibility for this. Someone spilled something in the drip pan, and it caught on fire. I yelled for Charlie (he didn’t hear me – so much for men) and tried to figure out if it was a grease fire or a normal fire. Then it burned itself out.
Go me. At least I didn’t cry.