Really, I should be ashamed of myself. When I was at school, I was always the one skulking at the back of the class, never offering an opinion, never volunteering, not joining in group discussions (if I had a good idea, I'd keep it for myself, put it in an essay and get marks for it - why offer it free to the whole class?) and generally remaining as disengaged as possible from the whole thing. Now, it's a different story. I volunteer, I show my work, I offer to take over while teacher's on holiday - heh heh, the rest of 'em can't even hate me for it, because they are grateful not to be nobbled.
Enough of luncheon club. Tonight, I had to go out at 5.30 for a meeting, the Sage was leaving at 7 for his and we wouldn't meet for dinner. So I bought pizzas and left them for him to choose and cook his own, leaving me and Ro to eat when we were ready. I phoned home to tell Ro I'd be 10 minutes; could he put mine in the oven please? He sounded hesitant. When I got back, I discovered the reason.
The Sage had cut a pizza in half and put it in the oven, not noticing that it sat on a polystyrene base. Ro came down after he had left, went to put his half in the oven, and found a noxious aroma and melting plastic on the oven floor. He took the grid out and dumped it outside and shut the oven door - at least, with the hot oven of the Aga, it should all char itself away, wafting the awful and unhealthy stink out of the flue. He used the little summertime oven to cook our pizzas, being rather more practically minded than his father.
When the Sage (should I call him that tonight, in view of the blunder?) came home, I asked him if he'd actually eaten the pizza? He was blissfully unaware that there had been a problem. I can only think that the polystyrene had melted away from the pizza so quickly that it didn't stick at all - lucky he used the grid shelf instead of a baking sheet. But surely he noticed the smell? No. He was in a hurry.
I've just realised that I've two things on next Thursday, neither of which did I put in my diary. Everything always goes in the diary, I can't believe how careless I was. I'll have to phone tomorrow and change the blood donor appointment by a couple of hours. Good job I noticed, if belatedly.
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7 comments:
I love this story. What a marvellous man.
Great, isn't he? No wonder he makes me laugh so much. He'll clean the shelf, too, without being asked.
This entire post, it seems to me, suggests the imminent onset of mature years.
Yes, dave, but it's a cover. She's only 17. Haven't you seen that photo of her?
Sadly, since Dave has met me, he knows I'm not disguising my age at all.
He thinks he's met you. But how do we know it wasn't an older stand-in?
Darn. I've been seen through. That whole elaborate fantasy of bantams and grandchildren and growing vegetables, when in fact I'm young and gorgeous and interesting.
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