I was on kitchen patrol earlier this week, focused on rinsing a bowl in the sink when some unexpected loud popping and sizzling noises from a few feet away caught my attention.
So, I turned and saw smoke billowing out of a microwave that sits on a cart and serves us as our emergency backup microwave.
I scrambled around the edge of the kitchen counter and peered in, but all I could see was a cloud of gray smoke and flames while being hit with an incredible stench.
As I screamed for help from my wife, our son, Sam the Chihuahua — anyone — I found the right button and shut the microwave down.
When the smoke cleared, I saw four Hotwheels cars inside the machine. Flames were still coming out of two of them.
Meanwhile, our 3-year-old grandson was in the living room screaming and crying.
it wasn’t a coincidence.
While his Papa’s attention was focused on the dishes, Solomon had loaded up the microwave with his favorite toys and somehow found the power button.
Now he was distraught because he thought he had destroyed his favorite Hotwheels.
We gave it a few minutes and then removed the cars with a wet paper towel in case they were still hot. The Hotwheels were all badly singed, and a tire had begun to melt on one of them.
I told this story to my friends Ed Godfrey and Linda Lynn, and all they could come up with were some bad puns.
“This gives new meaning to Hotwheels,” Ed said.
“Were the tires FIREstone?” Linda asked.
We consoled Solomon while also making it clear that he is never again to touch the microwave or put anything in it. Ever.
The cow had long left the barn, but we took the ultimate step to prevent a repeat of the near disaster.
We unplugged it.
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