Cool
Today our stove blew up. Well to put it in a less dramatic way, one of our burners shorted out. Saying it like that doesn’t do justice to the tremendous bang and large amount of sparks that were produced by this event. I’d turned the stove on and went to set a pan on it. As soon as the pan touched the burner the sparks started flying.
Anyone who knows me well knows that I’m not a cool and collected person in situations like this. I’m afraid of fire and afraid of getting burned. I didn’t learn how to light a match until I was nineteen. I’m still afraid to light a cigarette lighter. Every time I cook, I’m afraid of starting a fire. I run through what to do if there is a fire over and over again in my mind.
When this happened, I was cool as a cucumber. With sparks flying through the air, I took the pan off the burner. As my husband tried to turn off the stove, I opened the breaker box and turned off the circuit. No problem.
If I’d been alone, I would’ve curled up and a ball and sobbed after that happened. We had company at the time so I went on with the conversation like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. That’s what you do when you’re cool or, at least, pretending to be cool like me.
