Food for disturbing thought

As I sit here and eat my cheesy eggs, I have a disturbing thought.  Not quite as disturbing as that dream I had a while back but in a way, just as disturbing and maybe even a little more disturbing. 

 

Experience has taught me that when you cook in our kitchen, especially something as simple as eggs, the smell wafts it’s way up to our bedroom and makes a putrid smell like the house is going up in flames.  Experience has made me get out of bed many, many times to go check and make sure I didn’t need to find my belongings and get the heck out of dodge!

 

Can’t you just see me?  In my red flannel nightgown (thank you aunt Ruth!), breaking the window in the room that I’m supposed to be sleeping in but aren’t because it’s not done yet, just so I can slide my happy ass out onto the roof of the porch and jump down into the yard.  In the snow.  Barefooted.  Great.  I will probably twist my ankle upon meeting up with Lady Earth or worse yet, land on some inanimate object in the yard that I thought we moved months ago. 

 

The front page news on the Fontanelle Observer will be me…in my nightgown…that has worked it’s way up around my waist…purple feet with only half my toes still intact…gravel has embedded into my hands and I no longer have any skin, or nerves, on the end of my fingers…and there will be my cool little planter that looks like a bench…and it will look like I am sitting on it…because the little birdhouses (I think they’re birdhouses.  I’m not going to check now) sticking out the top of it, are stuck up my rear end and have poked their way out the back of my spine and ruptured right through my skin…and I will have crawled my way to the roadside of my neighbors house across the street…only to have my legs ran over by one of those maniac kids that drive down this road at ninety miles an hour.  Oh and did I mention that my house will come out with only minor burns (the saving grace of the whole rotten scenario)?  And my husband won’t even have noticed that any of this happened because he’s making eggs and only when he comes upstairs to bed…which is on a rare occasion…will he notice that there is a cold brisk breeze…and that I’m not there   That will be my luck. 

 

 Sorry, I got a little off track there.  I was going to tell you something disturbing, wasn’t I?  Yeah……..let’s see…….what was that????

 So I’m making me some eggs tonight after work because I really just ate crap and am starving and I get this terrible, scary thought.  Yes…the disturbing one, that’s it. 

 

 My husband can sleep through the smell of a burning house.  I mean, obviously he can because I just made eggs and he didn’t come down once or even holler down to make sure I was okay or if I was burning anything.  Heck, I could have been burning the house down without telling him and he wouldn’t be any the wiser.  Foolish man.  Of course I would never do that.  I have way too many things that I would need to get out of this house before a match could even be thought of lighting.  No.  Just no.  It can't happen.  One house fire per lifetime is my limit. And should be more than enough for anybody else.

 

 Did I ever mention that this house we live in, has had two previous fires in them?  And I’m pretty sure they both started in the kitchen although I can’t remember for sure.  I have it written down on paper with our deed.  I assure you, we didn’t start them and we didn’t live here when they happened. 

 I suppose I will go to sleep.  Now that I’ve went on and on about house fires, the dreams should be wonderful tonight!  And cheesy eggs will have helped lead the way. 

 

 Until next time…thanks for reading!