Christmas 2011, Misadventures with Toast
My favorite breakfast is a single piece of peanut butter toast, half a banana, an orange slice, a glass of whole milk, and a mug of coffee. My mom made this breakfast for me Mon-Fri from 1985-2000. So, while I’ve eaten PB toast about 4,000 times, I’ve only made it once or twice. In fact, I don’t personally own a toaster. Or a microwave. Or a television. I do, however, own an ice cream maker. And a Ronco Food Dehydrater. And a pickling kit. And a disco ball. I digress.
So on a balmy Christmas Day at my parents’ house, I set off to make this breakfast. Buzzing around the kitchen, I started the coffee pot, threw one slice of bread in the toaster, pulled dishes from cabinets, spreads from cupboards, and ingredients from the fridge. Making toast isn’t quite as sexy as boiling water or watching food dehydrate, so I’ll end the culinary description here.
Then! I froze like a 4th grade Simon Says champion on a bad command. I smelled something burning. It wasn’t burnt toast, but more like burnt rubber. I flipped around to see that I had accidentally draped the end of my cell phone charger into the unoccupied slot of the live toaster, and it was still plugged into the wall. I simply have no explanation.
The situation was dramatic; there was smoke, sparks, and lot of swear words. In an act of either heroism or stupidity, I yanked both cords out of the wall and threw the terrifying package out the open window. I made a mental note to retrieve the toaster once everything cooled down, so no one would know what transpired. I promptly crumbled up that note and threw it away in my mental trash can. That was until Mom yelled,
“WHY IS THE TOASTER OUT ON THE DECK?” #facepalm