If there were a gold medal for acting quickly to save the house from burning to the ground, my husband would have won it. Hands down.
It happened quickly...in the blink of an eye. Which...I'm pretty sure fires in most homes are impromptu and don't occur with time to prep for it. But anyway...I literally turned my back to the toaster oven...the one that was supposed to be warming my tostada shells...for less than a minute in order to pour the lettuce into the bowl. And when I turned back around to see what the smokey smell was, my toaster oven was on fire.
FIRE!
All I could do was yell, "Bra Bra Bra Bra"! I couldn't even get the d on the end of his name. And when he heard me he came running. And I'll tell ya...it's a good thing he was home because I totally panicked. And in my panic, instead of leaving the toaster oven closed, I opened the door and gave it a little oxygen. I thought it needed a little help growing into huge flames that reached quickly for my cabinets.
Brad turned the faucet on, pulled the sprayer out as far as it would go and took a shot. Thankfully, it reached exactly as far as the flames...and not a smidge further. It sizzled, died, and smoke filled the room...and I...well, I lost feeling in my legs! That's the closest I've ever come to something like that. And, ummmm, I'm fairly certain that's the closest I ever want to be to my house burning down.
Now I need a new toaster.
And a fire extinguisher.
But not a new house. Phew!!
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