“WHAT THE HECK IS THAT SMELL?”, I asked, after I came out of the shower.
“Calm down” BW told me. “It’s just my oatmeal heating pad. I warmed it up and it’s in the bed”.
“How long did you put it in the microwave?!” I asked. “It smells like you burned it to death”
I made some fake death noises1 to further emphasize my case against trying to burn the house down with oatmeal to which BW glared at me disapprovingly and told me to get over myself.
“You’re so neurotic”, she told me lovingly.
We both went our own ways: Me to get away from the smell and have my eyes sstop burning from the oat-smoke and to start this post now that the child is in bed.
BW just wanted to get as far away from me as possible. I can’t blame her.
I had just started to write something entirely different when I hear the child:
“Guys! Guys! Mom! Dad!”, she screams from the top of the stairs.
“WHAT THE HECK IS THAT SMELL?”, she asks me.
I explain to her and she reacts with “EWWWW. We need to get Mommy a new heating pad because that one has gone bad” as she crawled back into bed.
Keep your oatmeal cold and your loved ones close,
TH and Co.
I really don’t know what those noises would be because, I am still alive but I hazarded a guess.