IT WAS NOT MY FAULT… okay it was a smidgen my fault… But more the dogs then mine… anywho…
This story technically starts over 2 month ago with Hubby trying to convince me to let him deep fry a turkey and me explaining that I’d rather not die in a foul related fire ball death…. hahaha okay I get the irony now.
Fast forward to Thanksgiving day with me in the kitchen basting my lovely oven baked turkey and Hubby in the living room grumbling about how he never gets his way. I picked up the turkey and hosted it back into the oven, to get some leverage I put my oven-mitted hand on top of the stove and then pushed the turkey with my other oven-mitted hand into the oven, I’m all about safety.
Sadly, I had forgotten that with the glass topped stoves, even if you just turned off the burner and it’s no longer red… it’s still really hot… like burn an oven-mitt hot.
So I bring my head up from the oven, to investigate what that funny smell is, and see a towering flaming mass that is my oven mitt… with my hand still in it.
Me: AAAAAHHHHHHHHH I’M ON FIRE, I’M ON FIRE, I’M CAN’T BELIEVE I’M ON FUCKING FIRE AGAIN!!!!
I then started pounding the shit out of the enflamed oven-mitt with my other hand, which is also still in an oven-mitt. SO now both my hands are on fire and Hubby’s decided to make an appearance in our own Thanksgiving Dante’s Inferno rendition and starts screaming at me.
Hubby: TAKE THEM OFF, TAKE THEM OFF, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’VE SET YOURSELF ON FIRE AGAIN!!!!
I flung both mitts off. One hit the ground, between Hubby and I, and the other one slides a little ways away from us. We begin stomping the hell out of the one between us, which really just involved Hubby stomping on the mitt and me stomping on his feet, but it was out pretty quickly. We then turned our oven-mitt killing eyes towards the other one… which was gone…
We looked at each other in confusion and then realization dawned on our faces. We had just throne something in our house, there is only one person who knows when something is thrown in the house…
Me & Hubby: ORKO!!!!
And with that my lovable, dumb, dog trotted around the corner with a still kinda on fire oven-mitt clamped in his jaws.
Me: Put it down sweetie.
Hubby: Drop it buddy.
We both slowly inched our way towards Orko, and with a twinkle in his eyes, he took off. The chase probably only lasted minutes, but it felt like hours, and finally ended with Orko dropping the now smoldering oven-mitt on the Black Friday Sunday Edition newspaper… which ended up earning it’s name… literally.
But happy ending as the turkey turned out great, I had only mild first degree burns on my hand, Orko had no burns in his mouth, and we were able to find the Black Friday Coupon for the new couch we wanted in the remnants of the burnt paper… THANKSGIVING WIN!!!