Lion and Magic Boy

There’s nothing like a little toxic smoke inhalation to make you feel really alive, is there?

I’ve mentioned before that burning butter spread over the floor of a hot oven creates thick black smoke that permeates and chokes every lung-cell in the body, haven’t I?

Why yes, I believe I have.

Apparently, the sludge that runneth over the edges of a rather runny Shepherd’s Pie does about the same thing.

I am an excellent cook, really.

The windows are flung wide open, the door is closed to ward off kitten escape plots, and the children have retreated (willingly, I might add) to the room of one of them upstairs, the door of which was thankfully kept closed while the oven belched its blackest and most toxic smoke.

The oven wouldn’t be on at all, except we’re cooking plastic “stained glass” suncatchers delivered in kit form by Santa, damn him.

This is all Santa’s fault.

I am stuck downstairs alone trying to see my way through the haze, nose pressed to one of the open windows, watching the baking suncatchers which I refused to be bested by. I am NOT going to be cowed by a little smoke! So what if we’ll all need oxygen before the night is over? At least we’ll have suncatchers to admire in the emergency room!

I also poured myself a drink.

Two, actually, if you must count.

Happy New Year!