Husbands are great to have around on occasion. David and I had a wonderful date day on Saturday, and it was very "couple-ish" and romantic, but I'd much rather draw attention to his finer qualities, as husband, daddy and resident superhero pledged to fight household disaster. Like the small matter of our oven catching on fire.
Friday night was supposed to be Chili Dog Night. This was David and my lame attempt at trying for healthy junkfood. Our oven hadn't been working so great and our landlord finally finished it, so we though "YES! No longer will take take 45 minutes to cook some decent fries!"
That hope was dashed several minutes later, when amid the heavy smoke rolling out from the kitchen I hear David quietly scuffling about. "What's wrong babe?" I call out.
"The oven's on fire" he says
"What?"
"The oven, it's on fire. I'm putting it out".
After a fleeting trip down memory lane back to when David broiled some stale saltines in the oven to "crisp them up" and ended up with a flaming stack of cardboard crackers I gather myself to ask what the damage is.
It was minimal really; non existent. Just a little blackening around the bottom, and David's non chalantness made me believe it wasn't that big of a deal. Turns out, the first was about the size of a saucer in diameter and reached all the way to the second rack of the oven.
But he beat the flames back, time and time again - to protect home and hearth. Not only that, but My Hero CLEANED the freaking oven afterward.
Zoe slept, blessedly ignorant of this near disaster.
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