Our house reeks. It really reeks.
Just before dinner I was feeling proud of myself for tidying up a little bit before a friend came over this morning. Then I wrapped a paper towel around a couple of frozen rolls and tossed them into the microwave. I can’t say I recommend that.
I only put the power on 30%, but I left it a little too long. The paper towel completely charred and was smoking when I walked back into the kitchen. I think I ruined our house…and maybe the neighborhood too. Everything stinks and my pride has vanished.
Now I’m working on what face to wear when my tired husband arrives home from a long day of work and traffic only to find he can’t breathe, much less use the microwave to heat up his chicken. I already ordered some pizza.
I at least had the presence of mind to dash for the stairs and close all the bedroom doors, but the hall up there is a cloud of toxic hell. I’m not sure what we’ll do when we actually have to go into the bedrooms later. Thank goodness our son likes to sleep with his door closed.
I used some tongs to retrieve the blackened package from the microwave. I took it outside, doused it with water and lobbed it into the trash bin. I would apologize to our garbage guys if I knew how. They come tomorrow and then they’ll probably never come again because now our can reeks too.
It took a lot of cursing to get the oven cleaned up. Even as I type this there’s a cup of vinegar water in there that I’m supposed to leave undisturbed overnight. Helps with the smell or something. I’m not sure I care about the or something.
My poor child is a trooper. I can tell that his eyes are bothering him. There was a lot of smoke in here – acrid, vile smoke. (Is “acrid” where “ack!” comes from? I would believe it if you told me so.)
The pizzas came. I ordered one cheese and one pepperoni. They brought two pepperonis. The hungry vegetarian is punished for her crime. They’re on their way with the replacement.
My husband is home and in a far better mood than I. He said you can smell it outside. I’m not surprised. I knew I’d altered our street.
Now I’m cranky and sort of desperate for the house to seem pleasant again, but I’m not sure that it ever will. Doesn’t smoke get into fabric and paint? We have curtains and chairs and stuff. Are they goners? My violated nose can’t be trusted to tell.
Can this evening get any worse?
I’ll let you know tomorrow.