I wanted to tell him that unless he had a thirty year old son then there would be no setting up because gramps was in his late forties. After that awkward pause he told me he would not ask my age, but instead asked when I graduated. I submitted an answer and told him he could do the math sarcastingly. Let the awkward times roll. I admit a few of us had plans to escape the par-tay and venture to a new music venue. We were trying to get the show on the road, but thought we were goners when we heard, "Oh crap, not the oven cleaner." Oven cleaners I know. One cool fall night I had the brilliant idea to clean my little oven, and it was the last time I attempted that fun venture. I thought I was going to burn my apartment down. Sure I knew it would reach high temps and burn the crumby contents of the oven. Little did I know smoke plumes would rise from the corner eye filling my small space with enough smoke to kill someone. The oven locked and inside I saw flickering flames. I was in trouble. I did not have the normal dirty oven, I had the flammable space. I had roasted vegetables and olive oil spattered all along the inside making a great fire starter. I called the lady that lived below me, called my mom and was about to call maintenance and the fire department and then Mrs. S and I got the cleaning cycle shut off. Granted the oven was stopped but still locked. I breathed deeply waiting with baited breathe knowing that this was the last time I would attempt oven cleaning alone.
Well thankfully our little cleaning session only lasted a few moments and the bacon-wrapped scallops were saved, but we were not. Only on the salad course we still had to make it through two more. Taking a breather before dessert we made it out by 9:30ish--a little late, but the music could still be done. Sitting and waiting on the music we critiqued the evening, food and dude. Consensus: the prime rib was not seasoned and however nice the guy seemed he could still be a Schmuck.
No comments:
Post a Comment