So last night Lindsay attempted to burn down GC. I have a fish, right . . . a little beta named Narcolepsy (a very long story involving the youngest of my twelve children and a LOT of other things which y’all would never understand) that lives in a Rubbermaid container on my desk. I decided last night (after much thoughtful consideration of the fog in which he was carrying out his existence) that he desperately needed a water change. Obviously I’m unable to carry out this on my own, so Jill (and my roommate) came down to the laundry room to help. Lindsay comes trotting in a minute later, shoves something into the microwave and then, seeing my obvious ineptness at catching my fish, comes over to add her two cents. So all four of us are standing around the sink, trying to catch my fish and laughing about nothing in particular, when suddenly Lindsay jumps and screams “It’s on fire!!!!”
I turn, and from the corner containing the microwave is an ominous orange glow. Lindsay careens over and turns off the microwave and promptly flips out . . . “The fire alarm is going to go off!! The fire alarm is going to go off!!!” and starts waving a towel around like mad. Laughing, I open the window and crack up even harder when I notice that the fire in the microwave is still flaming. Jill calmly sweeps us out of the way and throws water in/on/around the microwave and puts out the flame and then calmly proceeds to wipe up the mess, while commanding us to keep waving and fanning.
Which, may I say, is significantly hard to do when you’re still cracking up and Lindsay is freaking out and asking “Do you think that started a fire in the wall?” and telling herself “Be calm like Jill!! Be calm like Jill!!”
There is nothing like a sweet little evening on Second Glide.
I love you all so very much.