No Sloof Lirpa Today

Those who know me know I'm not a practical joker. I tend to find many common April Fool's jokes trite and tiresome. Among these, the I'm pregnant pranks, the I'm getting married pranks, the famous person you really like is dead pranks (that one is particularly cruel, really. Poor Jeff Goldblum has fallen off that cliff so many times, I hope he never goes to New Zealand so as to not tempt Fate!). My own little joke then becomes to make you believe that I fell for your joke. Unfortunately, that really ends up funny to no one but me, but pleasing myself is what it's all about anyway, right? Anyway, I learned long ago not to believe a single thing I see posted anywhere on the Interwebs today. If you have some real news, tell me tomorrow.

But I'm not really here to talk about April Fool's Day and how it's not a tradition that I really get behind. I'm here to tell you about a brief adventure that resulted in the slaying of a perfectly innocent frying pan in a terrible, fiery passion.

It all started today, when a lone woman wanted dinner. She had a long day at work and it was well past her regular dinner time, so she was tired and wanted to make something quick and easy and yummy without slaving over the stove forever. It's a simple wish, really, one I'm sure we can all appreciate from time to time. So, she decided to make a nice and simple meal that she fondly remembers her mother used to make for her and it was called Egg on Toast.

The recipe is simple: egg, bread, butter, and whatever seasoning you like for your egg. Today, that was salt, dill, and cheese. Our fearless hero heated her frying pan, gave it a spritz of cooking spray for good measure, and browned two pieces of buttered bread, one at a time, for the pan was small. She then shook salt and dill over the pan (this gets your seasoning cooked into the bottom of your egg) and without warning, the butter and cooking spray that was heating in the pan turned brown and sizzled, then foot tall flames jumped forth from its black, non-stick surface. Smoke billowed and filled the tiny galley kitchen. Luckily, our hero has experience with flaming geysers of bacon grease from her job at the Virginia Renaissance Faire (and it occurs to me, dear readers, that I've never shared that story with you. Huh.), so she calmly moved the pan off the heat and let the flames burn out. What followed was simply a matter of turning down the heat, re-greasing and seasoning the pan, and cooking the rest of her dinner.

The first egg to hit the pan charred on contact and left quite a bit of eggy residue, but the second egg came off just fine. A little underdone because sticking to the charred pan was a concern, but still edible on a perfect piece of toast.

Now, it occurs to our hero that murdering that frying pan and then proceeding to cook her dinner on its charred remains probably wasn't too bright. She has no way of knowing if any of those too-black bits on her egg were just bits of egg or bits of burnt non-stick coating that she has since consumed. This is why she has declared the frying pan dead, she can't trust the non-stick surface after it had a few good seconds of active flambé. The plastic spatula appears to have not survived the ordeal as well.

But, the good news is she did not burn the house down. Now we'll just hope she doesn't get sick! 

 ˙ǝnɹʇ ʎlǝɹıʇuǝ sı ʇı ˙ǝʞoɾ ɐ ʇou sı ʎɹoʇs ǝʌoqɐ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ ʇɹodǝɹ ʇsnɯ ı ʇnq
¡ʎɐp s,looɟ lıɹdɐ ʎddɐɥ 'ǝɹǝɥ ɯ,ı ǝlıɥʍ