Brunette Moments: Emphasis on the "s"

Sometimes I worry in advance about the disasters our future children might cause.  Flooding the bathrooms, eating poisonous substances, setting the house on fire, etc.  But as of late, I've become convinced that if anyone in our household causes a disaster that brings us all to an untimely end, 

it 

will 

be 

ME.

I've had too many brunette moments lately to write about them in separate posts.  

So we'll just have a parade instead.  Here we go.

First up is the black garlic bread.  No, it wasn't black when I bought it.  I may have forgotten that the oven was on "broil" with something inside it.  "What's that funny smell?" Etc. etc.  

Oh well....feed the birds, tuppence a bag.

You would think that episode would have taught me a lesson.  Nope.  

Next in line is the smoking popcorn bag that was flung onto the patio after I stumbled around through a cloud of smoke in an attempt to open every door and turn on every fan in the apartment.   Okay, maybe there wasn't quite that much, but it's no exaggeration to say that smoke billowed out of the microwave when I opened it.  Honestly, I can't believe the smoke alarm didn't go off.  (In my defense, that microwave really is terrible with popcorn - the stuff starts burning before the popping has hardly slowed down!)  Michael was over at our church meetinghouse watching the priesthood session of our church's general conference when this happened.  I tried to air out the place before he got home, but he said he could smell it all the way out on the stairs leading to our front door.  Oops.  Luckily it was much improved by the time we had company over the next day.  But it is now a week later and the microwave still smells like burnt popcorn.

Then there's the hospital room door with which I whacked myself in the head after speaking to a potential client about getting baby pictures done.  *Thunk*.  Thankfully I don't think they noticed.

Then yesterday I neglected to mention a certain urgent, serious, how-could-that-not-trigger-any-red-flags-in-your-brain type maintenance issue to Michael until just before we went to bed.  That whole situation was so embarassing I'm not even going to mention the details.  Everything turned out fine, but if it hadn't I may have been too ashamed to post any more brunette moments.  Instead I considered writing a rather mournful post about common sense - how I sometimes doubt that I have any, wondering how I can possibly get my hands on some after I've already grown up and become set in my ways, etc. etc.
(No joke, I was really going to.)

And the hairspray, oh the hairspray.  Today, while doing my hair, I sprayed myself right in the eye.  

Just like Mike Wazowski in Monsters Inc.  Ssssfffssss.  Ahhhh!!

Those eyelashes aren't going anywhere.

So there you have it.  That doesn't even include all the times when Michael heard a thud followed by "ouch" coming from the other room where I invariably stubbed my toe or ran into the wall or something of that nature.
I really would love to feel like an intelligent person for one whole day without some disaster happening.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who does these kinds of things.

Please?  Anybody...?