Dangers lurk round every corner ready to strike at any moment. Fear creeps up gradually as the years encroach and stalk us down. The kitchen, an area that was once a safe and happy place to work has now become a war zone with bombs waiting to go off and annihilate the unaware.
I would never have seen MY kitchen in such a light. The knives or hot water maybe but... bombs?
We had been painting...had a little carpentry work done and to cut costs we did the touching up. There was dust and plaster all over the place as well, old sheets to contain the runaway sploshes and drips. This all took place on Saturday. My painter was seeing to his sport Sunday leaving me to clean up the rest. Like any good wife I offered to cook him a breakfast to last him the day.
“That would be very nice” he said.
“Eggs, sausage, bubble and squeak, toast and coffee to go?”.
“Sounds good!” and off he went to finish his packing.
I lit the gas ring and heated up the pan; in with the butter...sizzle sizzle...
“O oh a splash...paper towel to the rescue...AHHHHHHH” a cockroach as big as my foot came running out.
“It’s gone under the stove”.
It’s probably accurate to say that it was at this moment my brain went somewhere else as what I did next was unbelievable.
“I’ll get you ya bastard...come into my clean and sparkly kitchen” I said out aloud to my only listener.
I reached for the spray can...Mortein I believe and lifted the burner from the stove. Remember I had the pan heating on the other...I gave a small shot that would have killed him (if he was there). I give another for ‘just in case’ and another to be really, really sure when, BOOMB! My life flashed before me as the tops of the stove lifted and relocated askew ...dust and bits of plaster blew from where they lay hidden in places my efforts from the night before missed. “Shit”
“What was that?” as man of the house came running.
“I don’t know I think the stove has something wrong with it”
“What are you doing with that?” he asks pointing to the can.
“Oh I was chasing a cocky.”
“Look at this” pointing to the flammable sign on the can.
I guess that would have killed him” I say sheepishly.
“And you”, with a look that says what he is thinking.
I cover it up with a laugh even though my heart is racing. Two frights in one morning and all before my first cup of coffee.
The thing is, the cocky was still alive. Like global warming is going to bother them! There he was the only safe place left, up the centre of the paper towels, laying flat and still so that I could hardly see him. Trained in kitchen warfare and fearless I hit the button on the can again after turning of the gas that is, and POW... I got him. Take no prisoners, that’s what I say....!
I am all calm now and had that cuppa and my Weeties with Muesli sprinkled on the top. Lovely for the taste buds and good for the inside but the smell of burnt hair still lingers. Wonder what I can spray for that?
I would never have seen MY kitchen in such a light. The knives or hot water maybe but... bombs?
We had been painting...had a little carpentry work done and to cut costs we did the touching up. There was dust and plaster all over the place as well, old sheets to contain the runaway sploshes and drips. This all took place on Saturday. My painter was seeing to his sport Sunday leaving me to clean up the rest. Like any good wife I offered to cook him a breakfast to last him the day.
“That would be very nice” he said.
“Eggs, sausage, bubble and squeak, toast and coffee to go?”.
“Sounds good!” and off he went to finish his packing.
I lit the gas ring and heated up the pan; in with the butter...sizzle sizzle...
“O oh a splash...paper towel to the rescue...AHHHHHHH” a cockroach as big as my foot came running out.
“It’s gone under the stove”.
It’s probably accurate to say that it was at this moment my brain went somewhere else as what I did next was unbelievable.
“I’ll get you ya bastard...come into my clean and sparkly kitchen” I said out aloud to my only listener.
I reached for the spray can...Mortein I believe and lifted the burner from the stove. Remember I had the pan heating on the other...I gave a small shot that would have killed him (if he was there). I give another for ‘just in case’ and another to be really, really sure when, BOOMB! My life flashed before me as the tops of the stove lifted and relocated askew ...dust and bits of plaster blew from where they lay hidden in places my efforts from the night before missed. “Shit”
“What was that?” as man of the house came running.
“I don’t know I think the stove has something wrong with it”
“What are you doing with that?” he asks pointing to the can.
“Oh I was chasing a cocky.”
“Look at this” pointing to the flammable sign on the can.
I guess that would have killed him” I say sheepishly.
“And you”, with a look that says what he is thinking.
I cover it up with a laugh even though my heart is racing. Two frights in one morning and all before my first cup of coffee.
The thing is, the cocky was still alive. Like global warming is going to bother them! There he was the only safe place left, up the centre of the paper towels, laying flat and still so that I could hardly see him. Trained in kitchen warfare and fearless I hit the button on the can again after turning of the gas that is, and POW... I got him. Take no prisoners, that’s what I say....!
I am all calm now and had that cuppa and my Weeties with Muesli sprinkled on the top. Lovely for the taste buds and good for the inside but the smell of burnt hair still lingers. Wonder what I can spray for that?
Kez, this is hilarious. I've done a similar thing once before (though it didn't involve and aerosol can) and can vividly remember the sense of feeling like an idiot afterwards, as well as counting my lucky stars that no one was hurt.
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