January 17th 2018

Today I almost burned the house down again. And I say ‘again’ because it’s not even the first time this has happened. Late last night I’d put a chicken breast in the oven to roast for lunch today, but I guess I kinda sorta forgot to turn the oven off when I was finished.

So, when I came downstairs this morning to get my lunch out of the fridge, the oven was still on. There’s a voice somewhere in my head that is the echo of my Dad saying ‘have you turned the oven off’ to my Mum (probably not) every time we sat down to dinner for the last couple of years I lived with them. Although his voice is there to remind me, like some kind of subconscious, phantom firefighter, I still forget sometimes.

I know he’ll have a go at me for this next time I see him, so don’t tell him please, Mum.

The last time I forgot to turn it off was like over a year ago so that doesn’t even really count as recent, plus that time there was still food in the oven overnight, so that time was a lot worse.

I tried to hide it from Alice, and pretend that it hadn’t happened. I switched the oven straight off, too scared of the cloud of smoke that would engulf me, but didn’t open the door. When she came downstairs she knew straight away.

“You left the oven on again, didn’t you?” she said.
“How did you know???” I asked.
“I can feel the heat coming out of it,” she said.

Nothing gets past her.

I’m almost 100% sure I remembered to turn it off tonight.

Until tomorrow, I’m going to have to go downstairs and check…



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