I get home to a crazy-to-get-inside Puma and some garbage cans to drag in from the curb. Once in, I take off my shoes and jacket in the entryway and proceed upstairs. There, my wife is lounging in the living room, watching television, curled up in one of our favorite quilts.
I set my bag down and lay next to her on the floor. She smiles and kisses me, still watching television.
M softly, “In the kitchen.”
I get up and head around the corner to the kitchen. There, on the counter, is something blackened on a plate. Two things. Two corn dogs. Two burnt to a cinder corn dogs. Apparently, the toaster oven won.
PS, Curiosity won too, so I sliced one of the corn dogs open. Turns out that when a corn dog catches fire, the hot dog inside explodes. Strange and interesting sight, for certain.