Oops.

Once upon a time I had the most terrifying experience of my life. . . .

 

There I was being all domestic: my asparagus was baking in the oven, my alfredo sauce was all ready to be heated up, my chicken was defrosting, and I was ready to add my fettuccine noodles to the boiling water. Dinner was going to be ready when Joshua got home from school! And that's where our ideal evening went up in flames. Literally.

 

As I dumped them out of the box, a couple noodles missed the pan and slipped under my bright red, electric burner. And quickly caught on fire. I grabbed the long noodle and threw it in the sink. I moved my pan and turned off the stove. I grabbed a potholder and tried to grab the burner (dumb idea — my burnt finger was proof of that). I turned the stove fan on. About this time, my fire alarm started frantically blaring. Obnoxious thing. I ran to throw the door open to let some of the quickly accumulating smoke out. I did have the knowledge that you're supposed to smother stove fires, so I threw some kitchen towels on it. (They were handy. And I made sure to use the ones I didn't really like. Good excuse to buy new ones.) Well at least the flames weren't leaping up to my microwave anymore. But the fire alarm was still going off, and the wind had made my door slam shut. So I ran to open the door again, open the living room window, and fan my fire alarm a little bit so I could maybe think clearly. I ran back into my kitchen, pulled out my flour and dumped a bunch on. Awesome idea, huh? (Says the person who didn't realize flour is extremely flammable.) It didn't make much difference. Now I was running out of ideas. The fire was pretty much under control, but hadn't stopped. So I did what any girl does when she needs advice on household matters — I called my mommy. She said to smother it with a pan lid. Great idea, but my kitchen towels were already there. She said to dump baking soda on it. So I did. (I even made sure to use my older baking soda first. It's funny the things you think about in an emergency.) I had dumped it on top of the towels, so I started shaking them around to get some of it underneath and actually on the fire. Did I mention that this whole time my apartment was completely full of smoke? And the fire alarm was still incessantly going off? It was a little bit hard to breathe, let alone think. So the fire still hadn't gone out all the way, and when I moved the towels around the flames leaped up again. My mom suggested that maybe I just use the fire extinguisher. I moved all the stuff away from my stove. I grabbed my fire extinguisher . . . and for the life of me couldn't figure out how to pull the pin. My mom even found her fire extinguisher to explain it to me. Oh well. I checked the fire under the towels again and it was pretty much out. So I shook my baking soda around some more. Then I threw my pile of towels in the sink and ran them (and my finger) under cold water. And walked to the window where I could take some deep breaths.

My mom suggested that next time I'm in a situation like that maybe I call 911. They wouldn't have to come put out a stove fire for me, but they sure could tell me how to put it out. And they'd be certain to answer. Good advice, Mom. I'll have to remember that.

I can already look back at this night and laugh. When I picked Joshua up from school that night I was still in tears and very, very upset — but I was picking him up so clearly everything at the apartment was fine. Are you ready for the great part? When I told Joshua about the fire, he was afraid that I'd thrown his books on it or something. He just didn't quite understand why I was so mortified. Seriously, I may be dumb (flour on a fire . . . ) but not that dumb. It helped lighten the mood. So maybe I'm a little unnecessarily dramatic. But I truly thought it was the most terrifying experience of my life up to that point.

Later, I discovered it was all the broken, little noddle pieces that were the real culprits. And we still ate chicken fettuccine alfredo for dinner that night. I just made Joshua finish it when he got home. I think I had good reason to be afraid of the stove.