In which English Towers is nearly razed to the ground
So the smalls have stuffed their face with chilli tuna noodles (okay, so #2′s was without the tuna and hold the chilli) and gone up to the Lovelies to play footie. Hubby has been away overnight, he’s been working very hard recently. I decide to treat him to a grown up dinner ‘a deux’. I have a bath, dab on the lip gloss, slip on a little something, bother to find my silver flip flops (one in Bert’s upstairs bed and one downstairs) put some champagne on ice (well okay then, in the freezer), spritz a little Sarah Jessica Parker behind the ears and waft into the kitchen to check on my tandoori chicken and curried rice pilaff.
Cue scritch of needle across record.
In a spectacular blonde moment (even in the light of my past blonde moments this measures 5.9 on the Richter Scale) I have left a tea towel on the bloody hob. Yep, actually on the hob – thrown lazily so it lands against not one, but two gas burners. It now nestles upon my oven gently ablaze, flames licking lazily up my curried rice pilaff towards the extractor. OHHHH SHIIIIITTTTTTTTT…..
Lots of screaming, more cursing than is heard at Stamford Bridge on any given Saturday, lots of wet tea towels and a good deal of flapping later and the fire is out. My white skirt is smudged with soot, my carefully selected top is flicked with blackened water, my newly-streaked hair (ooh, I got a bit of copper in it this time – oops, sorry, not the time or the place) is sticking up in sweaty clumps and don’t even get me started on my mascara.
We have to face it. I’m just not built for seduction scenes. In fact, I’m the Alf Garnett Frank Spencer of seduction. The Bernard Manning of foreplay, if you would. Lucky we’re married with kids really, he’s kind of stuck with me.
21 Responses to “In which English Towers is nearly razed to the ground”
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You outdid me, on the very same day:
DH drives the whole family all the way to Sligo (hour and a half) and when he parks the car I turn to him and say,
“I left the chili on.”
“On what?” he says.
“On the hob.”
“Oh.”
(I pause)
“The hob’s on too, I mean.”
(he pauses)
“Is that something serious?”
Boy was THAT a long ride home.
Thanks for helping me feel better!!
Did you order pizza in the end?
May I come to your house one day when you are not expecting me?
Also, it’s the thought that counts. x
Silly cow !!
x
Did Hubby still get lucky though ?… and I meant with dinner before any smutty minds get working over time !
Your Hubby, must really light your fire! xXx Mwah!
Hails: Happily, the food was saved, and he only realised something was wrong when he saw the big pile of burnt tea towel in the sink. heh x
Thrifty: Ah, well Mr Lovely only lives across the field and he’s a fireman, so hopefully I wouldn’t really have burnt the house down. Give me time, though…
Mary: Absolutely! You’ll get lots of food and wine, but might leave slightly sooty x
Wee One: Don’t even go there! Yes, bless old Anjum Anand (sp?). Great tandoori chicken and the champagne helped a lot!
Tara: If only I could work the camera! Too right, he was very appreciative and tried to ignore the smell of burnt towel x
Moon: Absolutely
Aussie: Ooer Missus. Oh yes, he was ‘aflame’ with desire.
Wee One: There. Should’ve got in there first!!
My Dad once set his armchair on fire, while sitting in it. AND he didn’t notice till Mum pointed it out. He said ‘I thought it was getting warm in here’
Oh, Jeebus! Thanks for the laugh Missus! I’m with Ali on this one – If I HAD nuts, I’d have laughed them off!
I’m sure the lads were on hand to cheer you up with a highly pitched version of ‘Firestarter’ by Prodigy?
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