And for my latest catastrophe...

This is really getting quite ridiculous. I can't seem to go a day without something drastic happening. But this time there is a warning: Mom, and anyone else with motherly feelings toward me may want to avert your eyes. The following post will not comfort you; in fact will most likely instill in you a genuine fear for my future well-being. You have been warned.

I like my apartment, I honestly do. I actually smiled upon my re-entry this evening. The only thing I can find fault with is the stove. It is electric. I have long held a suspicion with those who maintain the superiority of the electric stove. It is simply incomprehensible to me. One cannot effectively control the temperature nor truly gauge the burner in use unless it is very hot and has turned its cherry hue. If one is to make tea in a kettle, as I am wont to do, once having responded to the shrill whistle and having poured the boiling fare, one is of the natural tendency to replace the kettle from whence it came. However, even after turning off the dreadful heated coils, they maintain their heat for an excessive amount of time, thus if one sets the kettle back upon its perch one will certainly be accosted once again with that piercing cry. It is really a most obnoxious inconvenience. It is, however, the second fault that truly creates serious implications. This is your last chance to bail, Mom.

Today, like most days when the temperature is below 50, I wanted tea. Nothing out of the ordinary, I've made tea several times in this apartment; it is February, after all. Today I turned on the burner, realized that I had turned on the wrong one, turned on the correct one and went off to find some socks, as my feet were cold and I had errands to run. I returned to my loveseat with socks in hand only to look up and see smoke billowing, literally billowing, up from my stove. I quickly discerned that I had indeed turned on the wrong burner, had in fact turned on the one burner with something on it that definitely should not be heated. It was only there temporarily, until I found it a home in my cupboards, I swear. So there I was in a cloud of smoke knocking a large plastic jug filled with powdered chocolate off of heated coils. Of course, by this time the entire bottom of the plastic jug had separated. Since I had knocked the upper part off, and the bottom was quickly melting, everything inside was left to burn or scatter. It was really quite unpleasant. I used my favorite shiny steel spatula to pry up the melted plastic from the coil and to yank the spiral out of its plug, the thing naturally having been turned off upon my first frantic arrival. With the exception of the foul odor still lingering in my apartment, all seems to have turned out well. I was able to remove all the charred plastic and chocolate from the burner and most of the rest of it vacuumed right up. Of course the rub of it all was that I had originally turned on the correct burner, after all. sigh.

I cheered myself up by going to a Tea Room I had spotted, as well as a $2.50 showing of the Pride & Prejudice with Kiera Knightly. I do love that movie. Even more on the second viewing.

Really, soon I shall tell you of the titles I've read. I promise.