A few days ago, I had come to the conclusion that garlic bread would taste good in my lunch. After getting confirmation for this fact, I go about to my oven to turn it on and pre-heat it. The prior night, we had sausages, and used tin foil to collect the grease.
Well, as it turns out, no one threw away the grease foil.
After a few minutes, my brother starts screaming. We all run into the kitchen and see this:
My mom runs for the fire extinguisher, has it ready and....
Nothing. It doesn't go.
So, I, panicking, start screeching, "WHAT DO I DO." My mom commands me to wake up my dad. I run down the hall, yelling, "DAD! THE OVEN IS ON FIRE." He doesn't wake up, so I try again. "DAAAAAD. FIRE. FIRE. OVEN. ON FIRE."
He leaps awake, and tears down the hall like a Spartan who was just told this was madness and he had to inform them it was, in fact, Sparta, not madness.
By this point, I'm cowering in the living room, hoping nothing traumatic has happening. This is my image of the oven.
Finally, all must be well, and he goes back down the hall. I look at the fate of my garlic bread, and it's covered in fire extinguisher powder. Just lightly snowed upon. My mom looks at me, and says, "Right. I wouldn't eat that."
And that's how, at 7:30 in the morning, I lit the oven on fire.
-Azu
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