I came home last night, following another grim day at the Desk of Doom and some fruit and veggie shopping. The intention was to get a pot of water going to cook some cauliflower. So I turned on the burner, however I failed to notice whether I had turned on the front or back burner...and in this case it was the back burner, where the toaster resides. Then I went to the bedroom to get...something. By the time I returned to the sight of flames and the smell of burning plastic, the rubber on the bottom of the toaster and the insulation on the power cord were a ruin. I also managed to ignite a box of Saran Wrap.
Then I had to sweat out my nightly call from hubby, which at least gave me time to frame the story and practice my groveling. He was pretty OK about it and said he'd been wanting to get a four-slice toaster for a while, so this will give him the excuse. I said, I'd use my birthday money from my mother as part of the payment.
So along with the Bitch-Partner seat disaster (which eventually resolved itself by the trip being canceled) and a 2 hour limo-booking nightmare yesterday morning, I'd have to say this probably my worst birthday since my 39th, which was a dog with fleas.