Weeknight dates are the hardest. Since I have to bring home the bacon for my cats, I have to strike a balance between working and getting my shit together beforehand so I don't look homeless. On my last date, I accidentally got REALLY drunk because I hadn't eaten anything but a tuna sammich all day. #rookiemistake
SO, this time, I planned on amping up my class level and adult-ness by having some food prior to going out. Mostly, in order to combat a massive hangover while sitting through nine meetings the following day.
I decide toast is a good option because a) I struggle to make cereal successfully and toast is hard to f*ck up, b) if we end up getting food I won't be super full, and c) bread is basically the only thing currently in my kitchen besides ketchup, an expired bottle of Xanax, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey.
Here's my issue... I'm more of an adolescent than an actual adult. And I am still using the toaster that my Mom bought for me during my freshman year of college... 12 years ago. And, apparently, that f*cker doesn't pop shit up, it just eats the toast until it bursts into flames like Bill Cosby in church.
So I'm in my bathroom, getting ready, when I smell smoke. GREAT. Just what I want when sexypants is coming over to my house. "Welcome to my humble abode, this is also what the ninth circle of hell smells like."
I run my ass out to the kitchen to find flames and smoke EVERYWHERE. Cats are panicking, the smoke detector is blaring, my life is flashing before my eyes, I'm unplugging the toaster and running to my sliding glass door, I'm screaming "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE BEFORE I GET LAID." ('We're' referring to me and the cats, obvs.)
Up until this point, this is just an honest poor-ish person mistake; like I will refill my Xanax and buy more whiskey before buying a new toaster any day.
My toaster just ate the bread and I started a small kitchen fire, nbd; this happens on MasterChef all the time. But, of course, because I'm me, I had to make things worse.
Without thinking I throw open the back door and instead of just catapulting the singed toast into the snow, I run outside in a panic. This wouldn't be that big of a deal, except that I live in a condo and I was obviously dressed in a see thru bra and underwear... because...maybe, sex... in the toast house. So, there I am, standing 90% naked in 15 degree weather, barefoot in a snow drift - and that's when I see my 87 year old neighbor walking her dog. She's in a full parka, snow boots, her dog has a sweater on... and I look like I've just stepped out of a brothel.
As if this wasn't bad enough, I waved. I WAVED AT HER.
SHE SEES YOU, K. NO NEED TO WAVE. SHE ALSO SEES YOUR BAGINA. It probs looked great, but I doubt she wanted to see it.
She just stared at me; I didn't get a friendly wave. So I slowly backed up back into my house like if I moved slowly enough, she wouldn't see me.
My house still smells like I've been burning an "Eau de Hades" candle from Anthropologie nonstop for a week. But, thankfully, he was real nice, and pretended not to notice. After two glasses of wine I was like "I accidentally started a fire before you came over."...
His response... "I know."
In hindsight, I looked pretty good and kind of wish I had let the smoke detector keep going off so the firemen could've seen my getup. I feel like that was a real missed opportunity.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. If anyone has an adult babysitter they can refer me to, that would be great. #safetyfirst
~K~
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