I just burned a graham cracker in the microwave.
Remember in college how one bag of microwave popcorn, scorched on the altar of inattentiveness, could clear the whole dorm with its stink? It smells kinda like that. But worse.
You see, I had this chocolate craving. And when I say craving, I mean an unstoppable force, a madness, a desire so strong that ten minutes ago I was shamelessly ransacking my child’s closet in search of an eight-month-old bag of carefully hoarded Halloween candy. No luck.
Then I found the chocolate chips. Just a few, in the bottom of a twisted plastic bag in the back of the cupboard. Right next to the marshmallows. And I had an idea.
Oh, yes. S’mores. In no time, I had laid hands on a graham cracker, which I set on a napkin before arranging the chocolate chips and the marshmallows in a sweet layer on top. Salivating, I placed the whole construction in the microwave and pressed ‘Start’.
I’m not sure what happened. By the time the smell reached me from inside the microwave, it was much too late to stop its putrid tentacles from creeping into every nook and cranny of the apartment. I tried. I whisked the smoking mess, napkin and all, into a trash bag, which I tied up and removed immediately to the dumpster outside. When I came back in, the smell almost knocked me over, and for while I was very busy–lighting candles, opening windows, spraying air freshener, and mentally adding graham crackers to the List of Things Not to Put in the Microwave.
Then I called Paul and asked him to bring home some ice cream.
See? I do have some good ideas.