Made in Richmond

I thought I’d cheer myself up this afternoon by eating some tator tots. Because I’m apparently seven years old and that easily amused.

So I loaded up a pan with some tots, popped them in the toaster oven, and went on my way. JR was in the jumper-roo squealing like a maniac, and I was folding some laundry while wrangling RVANews writers via email (all while in my pajamas! I’m amazing!).

Suddenly I look over, and what to my wandering eyes did appear, but a FIRE in my TOASTER OVEN in my KITCHEN in my HOUSE, the same HOUSE where my CHILD was.

So I started screaming. Specifically screaming “WHAT DO I DO. WHAT DO I DO.” I didn’t include a question mark there on purpose because I was more demanding it of the universe than asking for help.

Once my wits returned, I remembered we had a fire extinguisher under the sink. Luckily my fire prevention skills from 4th grade returned, and I recalled the acronym for how to operate a fire extinguisher (PASS: pull pin, aim nozzle, squeeze lever, sweep from side-to-side).

I pulled the pin out and cautiously opened the door of the toaster oven, sure that the fire would come gushing out as it was exposed to more oxygen. Because toaster ovens are known for being air tight. I squeezed the lever and…NOTHING. AS IN NO THING CAME OUT OF THE EXTINGUISHER. Specifically no things that would put out the FIRE.

After much cursing and scurrying and talking to JR in a sing-song voice as to not alert him to the DANGER, I remembered we had another fire extinguisher stashed in the pantry.

Again with the PASS, and luckily this one worked.

And then I promptly called Ross and started crying. Not so much that our house could have possibly burned down, but more about the tots.

Happy Wednesday to all of you, too.