Bad Things Happen in Threes OR My Week from Hell

I was painting the den.  La de dah, dah, dah.  My daughter, Cressy, said, "Let's watch a movie."  Then when I got down to help her find the movie of her choice, The Corpse Bride (MY daughter, ya'll!!!) she said, "And let's eat popcorn."  So I went to put the popcorn in the microwave whilst the kid put the dvd in the dvd player.  Now I will explain that the whole movie dvd/cable box/television/wii U is in the den, where I was painting.  In fact, I had already painted my way around where that set up was located.  HIM, the man to whom I'm married, had put it back together in his typical OCD inspired manner using pink and blue ties and labeling each wire while spinning in a counter clockwise manner and wearing his lucky socks.  (I may be exaggerating.)

Oh I couldn't find a burned popcorn lol
but wth?

While I was waiting for the popcorn to pop, my daughter says, "It won't work."  So I trudged into the den and tried to figure out why the signal from the dvd player was not working.  It took me about eight tries to determine that none of the television channels were working.  It took me about ten seconds after that to realize that the microwave was no longer popping, but it was smoking.  (And not in a good, I-have-a-doobie way.)  I had put it on 4 minutes because the popcorn function button doesn't work, intending to stop it manually when the popping stopped.  (It's a good plan in theory when I actually followed through.)  However, I became distracted by the whole television- not-receiving-a-signal-from-the-dvd-player thing.

This didn't really work for me.

The kitchen was awash with smoke.  I have since determined that burnt popcorn smoke smells worse than my daughter's moron cat's poop.  I opened the windows.  I turned on the fans.  I turned on the exhaust fan.  I carried the still smoking popcorn through the house.  It turns out that while I was rushing to get the popcorn bag out of the house I held it upside down and the very hot oil dripped out onto the floor and onto the rug.  I have since determined that Berber rugs can be melted by hot oil.  Really.  I've got evidence.

When I buy another microwave that
doesn't smell like burned popcorn
I totally want a Chaos button.

My daughter took a moment to illuminate me on what she thought of the situation.  She said, "I guess we won't be eating that popcorn."  If Cressy wasn't nine years I would have suspected that she was being sarcastic.

You have to read the little yellow sticker.

I got my daughter to lock up her moron cat upstairs and opened all the doors and windows.  It was cold outside so pretty soon we were wrapped up in sweaters and fuzzy socks.  And the smoke slowly began to dissipate.


My daughter told me the other day she was going
to invent a time machine and I told her
to get a Delorean.

I put another bag of popcorn into the microwave and went back to check the cords on the back of the television and the dvd player.  While doing that I forgot the popcorn in the microwave...again.  At which time I should have just said, "Eff the popcorn.  We're eating carrot sticks."  I should have.

I did not but the third bag of popcorn was a go.  I told Cressy we would have to wait for HIM to come home so he could tell me why he didn't attach the dvd player and then chastise him roundly.  Cressy made herself happy watching Wild Grinders and Rabbids Invasion.  (You should check out the Rabbids.  They're twisted, just like me.)

Okay, this isn't funny to Little People.

HIM came home about a half hour later and was mildly alarmed that the front door was wide open.  His words were "Has anyone seen the cat?"  HIM was worried about the cat but not us.  (Now I truly know where I'm ranked in the household, except when I'm making some dish he really likes, and then I'm number one.)

And the microwave, although having been scrubbed no less than FIVE times, still smells like burnt popcorn.

I need a new microwave.  Pretty sure.