TLBP added some cheese to the top of his eggs this morning and put them in the toaster oven to bake. Suddenly he screamed,
"Something in there's on fire!"
It was a waffle. I guess one of us left a waffle in the toaster oven, and it caught fire. It was sitting there burning, almost like a candle. The whole thing. One half of a Belgian waffle, burning like a duraflame log in the toaster oven. (At least the eggs were cooking nicely in there.)
Through some cursing and awkward maneuvers with pans, we managed to throw the burning waffle (and, sadly, the eggs) into the sink and run water over it.
Little Z just sat and colored the whole time, unconcerned, thanks to the new present she got yesterday from her horror loving honorary auntie.
"Da fire!" she muttered as she colored.
TLBP thought that, if this waffle fire business had happened to me when I was alone with Little Z, I would have burned the house down, but I maintained that, considering all the things I have actually caught on fire while cooking (sweet potatoes, for instance) I would not burn the house down this time. I've put out so many kitchen fires in the past, you see.
Though I'm not sure that's a good thing.