Meanwhile I was plugging away at work, my stomach rumbling. How long does it take to brown a bitty deli thin? BEEP BEEP BEEP. A fire alarm will always put a fright in your seat. But they often fire off, so to speak, at the mere hint of heat. A dog panting to close to the wife's (yes you read that right) will send up the alarm.
But this was not a drill. This was a fire in the making. Cue Dust in the Wind. I am on the list. On notice. My house was engulfed in smoke. A billowing, thickening layer of soon to be choking smoke clung to the ceiling making a mockery of gravity. Are you freaking kidding me??!!? You waited until NOW to notify me of impending doom? Damn fire alarm, you are....fired!
The smoke was e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e. It seeped and oozed into every crevice in the smoldering abode. Dancing across the ceiling like a theatre grade diffusing haze. Looming above like a crafty blanket about to smother my lungs and blind my vision. It appeared in every sense, that my house was ON FIRE. As it were, it was merely ON SMOKE. But I mean come on; I don't want to tell you how to do your job, but maybe a head's up BEFORE death is about to molest my alveoli might be nice...ahem, smoke DETECTOR. This is most definitely smoke I detect.
Yes, love, funny lesbian joke...the new toaster oven is in the mail she says. As long as Melissa signs the box. She wants me to believe it's not her discounted outlet bread that is at fault. There was nothing wrong with my toaster. Was. Indeed the flames were forming when I found it. Deep inside the belly of the thing, nothing licking it's protective plastic shell. Really? Is this a good idea, plastic shell?
I smell burnt toast in the car. Am I having a stroke?