I Set Fire to the...Stove

I don't cook. I don't like to cook. I don't want to learn how to cook better. I only cook when I have to or I feel like I am failing in other parts of my marriage (like cleaning house, which I also hate).

I cooked one night because I felt like I needed to. Josh always cooks and he usually always cleans. He also works full-time. With this on my brain, I felt like a terrible wife and in order to compensate, I cooked. I didn't cook a glorious meal. I cooked a Velveeta Cheesy Skillet (which is really good when it isn't charred). I boiled the chicken on medium heat until it fell apart when I poked it with the fork. I followed the instructions exactly when I made the rest of it. I measured the ingredients as accurately as possible. This was going to be the best Cheesy Skillet ever. It was going to win awards.

I put the chicken and the other ingredients together in the pan and was letting it all cook (I don't remember what the other ingredients were). Everything was cooking smoothly, barely bubbling. There was no grease in the pan, just chicken, water, and the other ingredients. I noticed that the garbage can was about to overflow so I grabbed the bag out, tied it up, and asked Josh to take it to the dumpster. I got a new bag, put it in the garbage can, and turned back to the FLAMING STOVE.

"FIRE! FIRE! JOSH! FIRE! JOSH!" I screamed while staring into the yellow flames that were coming up from under the stove eye.

Josh was standing in the living room watching the television. He turned around, calmly walked into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl and put water in it, poured it on the fire nonchalantly, and walked away. He extinguished the fire without saying two words. Then he took the trash out.

Now in the seconds that Josh was calmly saving our home, I was standing back doing nothing except for staring at my mess. "This is not good. This is so not good." I said. "Oh this is bad, Josh." I kept saying.

What was his reply to me? "Why didn't you put it out?"

BECAUSE I WAS TERRIFIED.

The food was done cooking shortly after that. Apparently when there is a fire beneath something, it really hurries up the cooking process. It turned out to taste pretty good. Well, it turned out to be edible. I have since been very cautious when stepping foot near the stove. I stayed scared of the stove for a good while after the incident, and I'm still not totally comfortable being alone with it. But when I feel like I am being a terrible wife, I turn those knobs and start boiling water.

Water can't catch on fire...right?

Josh is Grounded.

I don't cook. I mean, I try to cook, but I'm just not very good at it. Since the time I set the oven on fire, I've been kind of scared of the crackling and popping sounds that food makes when it's reaching a certain point of heat.

Josh is a wonderful cook. He can look at a recipe and cook it and it be delicious. If he didn't cook, we would be broke all the time or we would be starving all the time. I'm very thankful that he has a good relationship with the kitchen and all the appliances that live there.

But all good things must come to an end. If not an end, a temporary hard halt. Josh is currently grounded from the stove for the rest of the week. Why would I do such a thing, am I crazy? Yes. Yes, I am. I realize that we may be out of money for a bit, since we will be eating mostly drive-thru and take out this week. I also realize that I may have to brave the stove myself, which terrifies me. Lastly, I realize that worst case scenario, we starve to death. The three possibilities are all quite scary, but I feel they are necessary evils.

Sunday morning, I woke up the mouth-watering smell of cinnamon rolls. I rolled out of our big, fluffy bed and  dragged myself into the kitchen. With a beautiful light gleaming around them in all of their iced goodness was freshly baked cinnamon rolls sitting on top of the oven, just waiting to be in my belly. I've never been so happy in my life. I ate two of them and contemplated eating a third, but I needed to get ready for church and I needed my pants to fit. So I left those heavenly rolls and went on my way.

Josh and I got ready, went to church, spent time with my family, Josh played golf, etc, etc. We didn't get home until late Sunday night. The next morning I get up and those cinnamon rolls are still sitting on top of the oven, looking wonderful. I reached over to grab one and felt something hot on my arm.

I look at the dials on the stove (is that what they're even called?) and noticed that the oven was set to 350 degrees--just as it was the previous morning. THE OVEN HAD BEEN ON FOR OVER 24 HOURS. I immediately called Josh and told him what he did.

"You're not allowed to touch the stove....for the rest of the week." I said.
"Why?" He asked.
"The oven has been on since yesterday morning!" I yelled. "Not only could we have burned our house down, but we could have burned an ENTIRE APARTMENT COMPLEX down." I said.
"How do you plan on eating for the rest of the week?" He asked.
"......." I was at a loss for words. I hadn't thought that far into the conversation. I have still not given him an answer as to how we are going to feed our bodies for the rest of the week, but we had take-out last night and left overs tonight. I feel good that I have kept us alive for this long.

When I got off the phone with him, the newspaper headline flashed in my mind:
NEWLYWEDS BURN DOWN COMPLEX

I cringed at the thought. That's just what this little town needs, formerly known as Lauren Thornton burning down an apartment complex. I didn't even cook!

We were very, very lucky and now my obsession with the stove being off is in full swing.

Oh. Great.