Heartwarming Homecoming

I arrived home in old Manteno yesterday night. I'd forgotten what life in Bessman House was like.

Mom is making dinner and we're talking about TV shows and these are her feelings. She is now watching reality TV solely because she wants to see someone die. She has stopped watching shows without mortal danger. Her favorite show at the moment is Everest, because she's really sure an actual person (not a character) is going to freeze to death or fall off a cliff or something equally horrible and she's really looking forward to it. Morbid.

This is the woman who is my hero. Or nemisis. Its hard to tell. She's ridiculous. She is thinking of getting her masters degree. Apparently, she's found this "executives program" where you can get your masters in one year by taking classes only on Fridays and Saturdays. Your tuition includes catered meals and sometimes drinks. Come on.

But all this frivolity means one thing. The return of Cinderabby. Yep, Mom mentions that there's a cookie exchange tomorrow.
Abby: Oh I suppose that means I'm baking cookies?
Mom: Its not so bad, look what I have!
Mom pulls out a bag of chocolates.
Abby: That's not cookies.
Mom: But you can make the thumbprint cookies with chocolatre in the middle.
Abby: Can they be peanut butter cookies?
Mom: Sure.
Dad: You might have to buy peanut butter.
Abby: Yeah, like there are any cookie ingredients in the house.
Mom: Oh that reminds me, we also have to bring food.
Abby: I'm betting the 'reminding' part of that is that all the food is still at the grocery store.
Mom: See? She does remember what its like here!

Home sweet home.

Abby Burns the House Down

I stuck a loaf of french bread in the oven to toast and sort of... y'know forgot about it for a few minutes and all the sudden there is this smell. That familiar smell of smoke. Then the haze....

So we bust open the oven and the bread is on fire. Actual flames. Not that that would phase the Family Bessman. No one authorized a panic, so none ensued. Emily just sort of wandered around opening windows, mom killed the heat and I tried to disable the smoke detector. Easier said than done- apparently when there is an actual fire it is pretty persistant. After a few minutes the bread stopped burning and my fazha fearlessly pulled it out of the oven.

Mom tried to eat some of the unburnt part. It was still soft and fresh, but tasted like smoke. Unfortunate. We ate dinner without it.

12 hours later the singed loaf is still sitting on top of the stove. Such is the craziness of life on 8th street. Nearly burning down the house is forgotten by the time the salad is dressed.

-PyroAbby