9/12/2012

But You Tried to Fight It

Story Sent in by John:

Amber and I were friends in college, and only friends. I would've asked her out, but whenever I was single, she was attached, and vice-versa. We stayed in touch intermittently after graduation, and one day I decided to pick up the phone and check in.

Success. She was single. So was I. I asked her out to dinner, and we had a great time together. For our second date, she invited me to her apartment for a home-cooked meal. I was nervously optimistic, but at the time, I had a mostly good feeling.

I showed up with flowers and ice cream. She gave me a big thanks and a big hug. I asked her if I could help with anything, but she said that she was handling it all. It smelled like olive oil and pasta and grilled veggies. She excused herself to the kitchen, and closed the door behind her.

After trying to maintain a conversation with her while I waited in the living room and scanned her DVD library for anything good, I found myself in need of a bathroom. Instead of calling to her, I popped my head into the kitchen to ask her where her bathroom was.

Her stove top was engulfed in flames at least three feet high, and her kitchen was filled with smoke.

As for Amber, she was sitting quietly, stirring the contents of a metal bowl at her kitchen table, for all intents as if nothing was amiss.

"Amber!" I called out to her. She snapped her head up at me and I pointed to the stove.

She yelped, leaped up, and dumped the vegetables that were in the bowl onto the fire, which did exactly nothing to extinguish it.

Between coughs, I was able to ask her if she had a fire extinguisher, and she pointed to the cabinet below her sink. I grabbed it and sprayed it all over the stove. The fire went out much faster than I thought it would, almost like a candle.

My heart was thumping, but even at that point, I wanted to have a sense of humor about the whole thing. I turned to her with a smile and asked her if she was okay.

She replied, "Now that you ruined dinner? No. I'm not fine. Thanks a lot, asshole."

Oops! I saved her apartment and possibly her life. My bad. I left under her scowl and we haven't spoken since.

2 comments:

  1. Speaking as a cook, you *never* stop cooking Fiery Flame Flambe before it's finished cooking. It just isn't done.

    ReplyDelete

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