I was nuking a microwave-ready sweet potato in, of course, the microwave. Microwave-ready means that it’s wrapped in plastic and bears a label that says microwave ready. I don’t think it’s any different than regular sweet potatoes, but I bought it because it looked more convenient. Do not judge me; at least I am trying to be healthy. Anyway, I threw it in the microwave and hit the timer for eight minutes. I probably should have read the label a little more carefully because at the six-minute mark the potato exploded, and the explosion blew the microwave door open, and bits of hot, sweet potato hit me in the face.
I thought I had been shot. The sound of the potato coming through the microwave door was as loud as gunfire or gunfire I hear on TV. I have never actually heard live gunfire. Smashed bits of orange which I assumed was brain tissue, littered the floor where I lay ducking for cover. Immediately, l thought that I should probably get help. Honestly, I was amazed with myself that I could still have coherent thoughts while pieces of my brain were scattered around my kitchen.
As it turns out, all my brain tissue was still enclosed in my head, and only the potato had suffered a severe injury. For me, the real danger had passed. I can’t say the same for my microwave which was now toast – no pun intended. After I cleaned up the mess, I poured myself a bowl of Special K for lunch because it was convenient and didn’t require any type of oven preparation. I took my cereal and went into the family room and turned on the TV. I came upon a preview for a show on the Bio Channel called “I survived”. Sure, there were three women talking about being shot, stabbed and thrown off a bridge plus a man telling his tale of being mauled by a wild animal, but I thought that maybe with a little embellishment, my sweet- potato- gone-awry story might earn a spot on an upcoming episode and divert my husband’s attention to the now defunct microwave. Here is my revised sweet potato tale. Let me know what you think:
I was in my kitchen doing dishes and baking a cake from scratch for my wonderful family when I saw a figure out of the corner of my eye coming closer. The man was obviously out to steal my good crystal and silver (whose location is unknown to me because they haven’t come out of the boxes since my wedding but were still essential to have according to my mother).
I said, “No, you cannot have my sentimental possessions!”
And he said, “Yes, I will have them. Hand them over before I hurt you by exploding those sweet potatoes you have sitting on your counter.”
I reached for the sweet potatoes but I was not fast enough. The would-be-robber threw them into the microwave and hit the timer. I could do nothing but watch as he held me at bay with a gun. Then, just when the potatoes had reached their explosion point, he stepped out of the way and the potatoes blew up and hit me instead. He thought I was hurt, so he panicked and fled from my home not before ramming his car into my bumper. I’ll explain the bumper at another time; why spill everything at once.
So, how is that story? I am hoping it is not only a winner with the producers of the “I survived” series but a plausible account for my husband who is not going to be thrilled with the broken microwave door since, well, the bumper incident.
I have to say that lunchtime for me is getting to be a difficult undertaking. I need to get a new office. It’s just too expensive to work from home.