Hazy Daze

My house is smokin'. And it's not because my family is hot. We are, but- ok, only I am, but we're getting side tracked here. In the past week, Mother, Father, and I have all took our turns burning something on the stove. And even though Brother is now on the West Coast, I fully expect him to ruin one of our pans within the next two days. Tha'ts just the kind of hot streak we're on. Came back from New York and realized that I could not fall asleep because the smell of burning was deep within my room. At first I suspected smell-residue from restaurant grease then realized that I haven't worn my pajamas to the restaurant in quite awhile. Also didn't seem likely that Mother's chicken fingers incident would have a lingering smell so strong that I'd smell it five days later. Turns out, Father had almost burnt down the house a couple of days earlier. Turned a pot on and just let it go. The smell of burning is now noticeable in every single room of the house. All two and a half baths included. The only upside to this is that I can now blame Father's burning of the pan for every new cooking mistake I make. Did you burn something today? (Say, stir fried eggplants, tomatoes and beef?) No, Dad, that's the smell from that time you almost burnt the house down. An ultra-convenient, crispy, delectable scapegoat.