Confession Time

Okay, enough beating up on Martin. It’s my turn to get grilled.

I set the oven on fire last night.

And unsure what to do, I simply shut the oven door and observed the fire through the window.

For a while.

Admittedly, when I switched on the oven, I noticed a piece of charred something smoldering below. But I assumed it would just burn off.

I never imagined that it was combustible.

As the little blaze carried on, I phoned Martin in the Mouse House — as though I had no idea what had happened — and said something like, “The oven’s on fire! Get in here and put it out!”

I didn’t photograph the incident, but it looked a bit like this:

I guess it’s time to run the oven’s “clean” cycle. Unfortunately the knob settings have worn off and half the time, I can’t tell if our chicken dinner is baking, broiling or cleaning.

So there, I said it: I started an oven fire and didn’t know what to do about it.

While we’re on the subject, I also set a toaster oven ablaze in my office 4 years ago. I doused it with a coffee pot of water until it fizzled into a smoky mass.

Then I made myself scarce.

I’m no longer employed there and since then, the staff relocated to another office suite.

But I like to think that the scorch mark on the wall remains.