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Location: Georgia, on the Florida line, right above Tallahassee
10,471 posts, read 15,839,921 times
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Picture this. It’s 6 P.M. Dinner time. Daddy is going to sear something – I think it was steak tips, can’t really recall. The house has been on the market for about 2 months, or so. Not a lot of lookers; some seemingly interested, some not so much. People showing up from 9AM -5 PM… mostly announced and sometimes not so much. We’d had a few come later than 5, but most of the time, the Realtor would call and let us know.
So, anyways, 6 PM. Got the cast iron Dutch oven with about 1/8 inch of oil in it, getting toasty. I said sear, didn’t I. OK, stir fry, whatever.
DING DONG. The doorbell rings. I put a cover on the pan and walk downstairs. (Split level) Hey! It’s a Realtor! And People! Oh joy!
I explain that I’m in the middle of fixing dinner. They might want to come back tomorrow, as we’re all getting ready to enjoy some family time. That is not what I SAID..of course. For anyone who has ever had a house sit on market for 60+ days..when most homes were selling in 40….well, you gotta show it to sell it , right?
So, the realtor says it will only be “just for a minute”. “Ok, no problem”…says I, as my wife gives me the “You said no one’s gonna come after 5 PM” look.
The people step in.
The fire alarm goes off.
The pot lid begins to shake violently. I dare say, it grinned.
Voluminous smoke begins to belch from the pot….as Daddy races to the kitchen.
Daddy (in his awesome Daddy wisdom) grabs the pot (with pot handles) and tosses it in the sink. Where the lid comes off. The hot grease rejoices with the sound of 10,000 angels as it meets its buddy, Mr. Oxygen. A 2 foot pillar of flame erupts from the sink.
I look downstairs. The lady (wife? girlfriend? I’ll never know?) has a look best described as a catfish, freshly gutted.
The husband has a look of chagrin. It says "I might have liked the house. But. There was that whole “Fire thing” you know."
The Realtor is probably trying to remember this the best she can, to tell the folks down at the office tomorrow. “Ok, make sure they don’t have pans of grease on the burner when doing a showing.” As the other realtors cackle with glee. No.. NO… No way! Yes way! No! YES!
My house smelled like burnt oil for 2 days. And they didn’t buy it.
I am sure you'll get some grief on here for not turning the stove off. But what I like about the story: a dinner cooking husband! Keep up the good work!
Location: Mokelumne Hill, CA & El Pescadero, BCS MX.
6,957 posts, read 22,319,080 times
Reputation: 6471
That's the most common cause of fire stations burning down in the US. You're fortunate that it didn't get worse.
Daddy (in his awesome Daddy wisdom) grabs the pot (with pot handles) and tosses it in the sink. Where the lid comes off. The hot grease rejoices with the sound of 10,000 angels as it meets its buddy, Mr. Oxygen. A 2 foot pillar of flame erupts from the sink. is a priceless description of the event. Thank you for sharing.
Picture this. It’s 6 P.M. Dinner time. Daddy is going to sear something – I think it was steak tips, can’t really recall. The house has been on the market for about 2 months, or so. Not a lot of lookers; some seemingly interested, some not so much. People showing up from 9AM -5 PM… mostly announced and sometimes not so much. We’d had a few come later than 5, but most of the time, the Realtor would call and let us know.
So, anyways, 6 PM. Got the cast iron Dutch oven with about 1/8 inch of oil in it, getting toasty. I said sear, didn’t I. OK, stir fry, whatever.
DING DONG. The doorbell rings. I put a cover on the pan and walk downstairs. (Split level) Hey! It’s a Realtor! And People! Oh joy!
I explain that I’m in the middle of fixing dinner. They might want to come back tomorrow, as we’re all getting ready to enjoy some family time. That is not what I SAID..of course. For anyone who has ever had a house sit on market for 60+ days..when most homes were selling in 40….well, you gotta show it to sell it , right?
So, the realtor says it will only be “just for a minute”. “Ok, no problem”…says I, as my wife gives me the “You said no one’s gonna come after 5 PM” look.
The people step in.
The fire alarm goes off.
The pot lid begins to shake violently. I dare say, it grinned.
Voluminous smoke begins to belch from the pot….as Daddy races to the kitchen.
Daddy (in his awesome Daddy wisdom) grabs the pot (with pot handles) and tosses it in the sink. Where the lid comes off. The hot grease rejoices with the sound of 10,000 angels as it meets its buddy, Mr. Oxygen. A 2 foot pillar of flame erupts from the sink.
I look downstairs. The lady (wife? girlfriend? I’ll never know?) has a look best described as a catfish, freshly gutted.
The husband has a look of chagrin. It says "I might have liked the house. But. There was that whole “Fire thing” you know."
The Realtor is probably trying to remember this the best she can, to tell the folks down at the office tomorrow. “Ok, make sure they don’t have pans of grease on the burner when doing a showing.” As the other realtors cackle with glee. No.. NO… No way! Yes way! No! YES!
My house smelled like burnt oil for 2 days. And they didn’t buy it.
My question is why?
WHY? GOD WHY?
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You just can't make up this type of stuff....
You have made my day. I have never laughed so hard in my life - you write beautifully. I was getting so frustrated, with our house on the market 4 weeks and not even a nibble. You injected some much needed humor into an otherwise stressful time.
Is the MORAL of the story that the husband should have brought home 'take out' ???!
p.s.
Something kinda 'fishy' here if you gals NO what I mean !!!!
p.s.s.
I pray that your home sells soon !
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I'm confused;-0
