My night classes go pretty late, so in the past two weeks Kenny and I have been getting fast food. Terrible, I know, but I am too dead tired to go home and cook after work/classes. So tonight I asked him to cook up some turkey burgers for us to eat.
It seemed like the easiest plan…I could not have been more wrong!!
I got to the casa around 10pm to find our apt filled with smoke and some vile stench that is still undetermined. My boyfriend just sitting there on the sofa with this big stupid grin on his face, that lets me know he finds this highly amusing.
I tread with caution into the kitchen to find two blackened patties, that look more like hockey pucks, sitting in the frying pan, the stove still on.
He says he cursed every swear word in the book at the smoke detector that kept going off (gee, I wonder why) and one of the burgers actually caught on fire.
This is a guy that if something is broken he hires someone to fix it. The only tool we have is a hammer, and that’s just to hang pictures on the wall. I was just thrilled the fire dept wasn’t there hosing off my closet that I just organized.
Right before I was about to tear him a new one, I stopped and realized that it was a minor incident in the grand scheme of things. I was just happy he wasn’t hurt and that no major damage was done. So he rinsed off the pan and I showed him the proper technique for making burgers.
People are simply more important than frying pans (or clean fresh air).