I’m at home! Real home.
I got to Real Home in time for lunch, but while walking from car to front door, I passed what appeared to be a wet, singed book on a dinnerplate, in the driveway. This seemed strange, and I enquired about its origin. My Dad seemed sheepish and told me to ask Sam.
Sam’s explanation went a bit like this (emphasis his): “Daddy left a book out in the rain yesterday, so he brought it inside and decided to dry it by microwaving it. for five minutes. It was a thick book and it hadn’t got any drier after five minutes, so he put it back in and did it for another five minutes. Then he took it out, saw that it was steaming so put it back in, set it for another five minutes and then left the room. Five minutes later I realised that there seemed to be smoke rising from the microwave, so I opened the door, lots of noxious fumes came out and found a book, on fire, in the microwave. I threw two jugs of water over it and put it outside.”
Apparently Mum responded by sighing and telling Daddy to buy a new microwave, which I think says a lot about expectation. Actually the microwave works fine now that all the water’s been drained out, it’s just that our kitchen (well, whole house) smells a bit funny. Ironically the book’s still wet, still outside and now it has singe marks.
