It is very rare that Husbandly One and I entertain. In the last four years, we have thrown one wedding shower, three parties, probably six family get-togethers, and an equal number of impromptu fondues when my friend Watermelon has come over to devour kilograms of melted cheese.
Husbandly One and I had two other people over for Thanksgiving dinner on Monday, and despite the tiny number of guests, I was excited to welcome them to my home. I don't cook much, but I do make a mean turkey. I knew it would be a lovely time with a delicious meal.
The turkey was expected to be done at 3:30. At 2:00, I wanted to check on my masterpiece (plus allow more of that yummy turkey smell in to the kitchen.). I opened the oven door, only to get a face full of flames.
Okay, it wasn't flames. But it was a blinding spray of electrical sparks. My element had somehow broken, and the "flame" was slowing travelling along the entire length of the element, reminding me of those Wile E Coyote cartoons when he would light the long fuse and you would watch it slowly hiss along the ground, until finally, Kaboom!
Always the cool-headed person in our home, I freaked and screamed, "Holy F***, Husbandly One!! Turn off the power!! NOW!!"
He, running to the basement, "I don't remember which fuse it is!"
"Then turn them ALL off!"
Five minutes later, when my heart rate returned to normal, I called my mum, and, sigh, told her to turn her oven on because Husbandly One was on his way over with a half raw dead bird.
Of course, my oven simply couldn't blow up on a day we were just having dinner by ourselves. No no, this could only happen in the ten minutes before my company arrived.
Maybe that's why we don't entertain, we know what our luck is like and would prefer to keep our house standing.