Mornings are hectic all around the world, I'm sure, and our house is no exception. Of course, he works at night and I work mid-morning, so I usually get up before him, and while I'm about to hustle out, he's sleepily preparing breakfast and chugging down vitamins.
The other day, I smelled something burning. Big-time. Not toasted, but charred.
I am upstairs. He's on the same level as the kitchen.
"ROC! Something's burning!" I yell down to him as I grab my last few things and the dog starts to bark.
I hear the toaster oven open and close, and then the deck door open, plus the kitchen fan going on.
By the time I high-tail it downstairs, there's smoke, and I apparently just missed a mini-fire.
He looks at me.
"Did you burn it?!" I am annoyed, as I made a special stop and bought him a gourmet muffin the night before.
"A little. It's fine." The King of Understatement is shooing me away. "Go to work."
"I can't believe they let you carry a gun."
That would be funny enough, but I can't stop there. I continue the conversation by calling him from the car. Last week, he had another toaster oven incident in which case he burned my bagel. I remind him of this, then tell him that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
He wishes me a good day.