The Night I Almost Set the Kitchen on Fire…Smokey the Bear Would Definitely Not Approve of This Post

I SKIPPED MADE ME LAUGH MONDAY BECAUSE I HAD NOTHING FUNNY.

Whoa boy, was I ever wrong on that account. I had something absolutely hilarious happen to me tonight, and that is how I almost set the kitchen on fire. I almost set the KITCHEN on FIRE.

Kevin and I have a favorite food called Chicken Roll ups. It’s chicken mixed with cream cheese and butter, wrapped in croissants and rolled in breadcrumbs. Pure deliciousness. Well, I decided to be Little Miss Helpful – a recipe for trouble all on it’s own – and preheat the pan he was going to use to cook the chicken, so I poured in some vegetable oil and cranked the heat up to high. But I forgot to turn the heat down before I moved on to the next task, MULTITASKING FOR THE WIN, and the next second I turn around to find the entire back side of my kitchen covered in smoke that was rising from the burning fluid. So naturally, I did what any freak of nature would do and I grabbed the pan and turn off the burner.

What was left of the oil instantly turned into flames.

At this point, it was safe to say it was a two foot high, spitting, hissing fire, in a pan that was half a foot away from me. I yelled “Babe!” which is a much better alternative to the unladylike words that easily could have slipped out instead, and I rushed the pan to the sink.

Mistake number one: leaving a pan of vegetable oil on a hot stove. Mistake number two: Putting the pan – which was now on fire, under a constant stream of cold water.

Yea.

Don’t do that.

Wanna know why?

Because you wind up with a flame that goes from a measly two foot flicker to a four foot roaring fireball straight up to the ceiling…while you’re still holding it. And you can say it, I’ve said it plenty of times. I’m surprised those ugly, 1970′s curtains didn’t catch on fire in the process.

I was pretty much lost for what to do at this point. Stop, drop and roll don’t really work unless YOU are on fire.

“Take it outside,” Kevin opened the door and covered his face with his arm as I walked past, awkwardly holding the pan out at arms length. I stood for a good two minutes like that, arm outstretched trying to figure out how to get this pan to stop hissing at me. I finally guessed the cold pavement would be my best bet, so I dumped the remaining fluid in the middle of the driveway and fell to my knees by it.

“Are you okay?” Kevin asked from the bottom of the stairs. I shook my head no and realized I was shaking all over. The odd noise I could hear was coming from me. It was somewhere between a laugh and a half-sob. He wrapped me in a hug and then coaxed me back inside to survey the damage. The entire downstairs was coated with a thick, nasty smoke that burned our eyes and noses. We used blankets to attempt to air it out. It’s one of those smells I’m sure will stick around for weeks. “We’re lucky it didn’t spread…Gram’s has oxygen tanks! Boom! But in the end, nothing can replace a life. I’m just glad we’re all okay.”

I was busy at this point taking photos of the damage and also of this warning label.

“But you got to admit…” he added a few minutes later as we both flapped blankets in the middle of the kitchen, “this’ll make for an awesome Twitter post!”

Postnote: I may have ruined our appetites and scared us a bit, but thankfully in my own defense I didn’t ruin dinner.

I just made him cook it.

Post-Postnote:

I have a confession to make, Internet. On Christmas Eve I came home to realize I’d left my hair straightener on all day, only two inches away from the wall. It left a burn mark on the counter (MOM I’M SORRY AND I GOT THE MARK OFF *thank you Magic Erasers*).

This all goes to prove that I shouldn’t be allowed to use electronics of any type, specifically those that generate heat.

Send help.