I Get Banned from the Kitchen Regularly

Reason I am banned from the kitchen currently: I accidentally set fire to the stove. Again.

First thing you need to know about me is that I can survive for days in the wilderness, alone. With out accompaniment. The second thing you need to know about me is that four days alone in my own house and I am starving.

I am starving mostly because Pepper is out of town, and I am currently banned from the stove. Again. Normally when Pepper goes out of town she sets up a routine with several of our mutual friends, to ensure they stop by periodically, or call to ensure I am still alive. And she would make sure someone brought over food for me, or at least there was enough food in the microwavable category I will be okay.

Pepper left town rather suddenly this go round because of her grandmother's funeral back east (for those not paying attention we live in Idaho, that would be west.) As such she did not make arrangments to ensure there was enough food, someone to bring left overs or otherwise ways to be certain I was going to actually eat food and not wander around the house like a ghost complaining about hunger.

“But, Pine...why don't you just cook for yourself?” You ask.

That's simple. I am banned from the stove. Again. This happens several times a year. I do something that necessitates the use of a fire extinguisher. Or the disconnection of the smoke alarm and Pepper declares me unfit for society and bans me from the stove. This ban will last a few months, then she will slip and forget and I will start using the stove again. This doesn't last long however because sooner or later I set something on fire. Again.

So while Pepper is out of town I've been surviving on cheese sandwhiches and SoBe. Whining about being hungry to the dogs who can't figure out why I don't just eat dog food like they do. It's delicious, they swear.

This most recent stove banishment happened a few weeks ago. I decided I wanted macaroni and cheese. (Because I am still a college kid deep down inside.) (Okay not that deep down.) I put the water on the stove to boil. And because I had nothing better to do, I started washing dog dishes. Pepper and I split the house chores, and she does the human dishes the bulk of the time. I am entirely responsible for washing any dishes used by any animals in the house. We have seven dogs. Three cats and a Hawkeye. This generates a significant amount of pet dishes.

I am standing at the sink, singing along to the radio and washing dishes. I glance up and peer out the kitchen window to the world outside. It was dark out and through the pane I could see a flame dancing. I thought to myself “oh how nice, the neighbors have a fire going.”

Problem: we do not have neighbors.

Actually we do. But it's a cemetery, so if the neighbors have a fire it's probably the zombie apocalypse and the dead are rising.

So following my “oh how nice” thought came the quick realization “wait...we don't have neighbors...”

I turned around quickly to see that the stove in fact on the fire. The delightful flame I had seen was coming up from under the burner where my water supposed to be boiling for noodles. Suddenly it wasn't so delightful. Because there was a fire. Inside my house.

“Ahh!” I shouted. “FIRE! Ahh! There's a fire! There's fire! The stove! FIRE!” I stuttered over my own words.

I grabbed a towel form the counter and pulled the pot from the burner. I began tamping out the towel on the burner. It was around this time Pepper appeared. She entered the kitchen calmly, with both eyebrows raised.

“What did you do now?” She asked in a tone that suggested she had asked the question before. And she has. She asks this same question multiple times a week.

“It is not my fault!” I protest immediately. “There was fire! I put it out though!” Like some how the fact that I put out the flame I was some how responsible for was going to absolve me of the crime of setting the fire in the first place.

Pepper looked at me, then at the stove. And back to me. “That's it. You're banned from the stove.”

“Again?!”

“Again!” She waved her hand at me and turned to head down the hall to her bedroom.

“For how long?!” I called after her. The length of the banishment varies depending on the crime.

“Awhile!” She shouted and closed her door.

I stared blankly at the stove for a minute. And then at my cooling pot of water. “But I'm hungry...” I muttered.

Pepper opened her door and stuck her head out. “I will feed you in a minute! Let me finish what I'm doing.”

I grinned, and turned back to the dishes.

And that is how I was banished from the stove. Again. The moral of the story is that I can not be trusted to survive in a domestic setting with out adult supervision. And that being 30 years old, does not in anyway make me an adult.