Superhero

All I can say is thank God (not in the religious sense of an almighty, all-powerful God in the heavens God, but the expression God that emerges from ones lips in an utterance of relief, God) that Amylynn’s 400 page manuscript was not in my kitchen near the stove last night.  

I had some blatant confirmation last night that my ultra-paranoid, over-planning compulsive disorder might have some redeeming benefits after all. 

I was doing my best couch-potato impersonation, wrapped warmly in my Slanket (it’s a blanket with sleeves…pure genius!)  with a heating pad on my aching shoulder, a frosty glass of mildly fragrant chardonnay and a scary show to complete my little circle of life.   My hubby, who I will hereafter call Bear, was pre-heating the oven for a late night snack of leftover pizza.  

And then a disturbing, half-panicked objection emerged from his lips. 

“What is it?”  I asked while I stretched my blanketed arm towards the frost-laden wine (which is only possible with a Slanket).

He snapped back, more panicked now, “Something’s on fire!” 

I vaulted out my slanket (after gently setting down my wine, of course) and ran into the kitchen, where indeed, flames were filling the inside of the oven!  They were coming out of the heating element at the bottom of the oven. 

Without a second thought, I sprinted to the laundry room where I had mounted a fire extinguisher 6 years ago in a ridiculous fit of self-preservation.  I yanked it from the wall and sprinted back to the kitchen.  As my mild-mannered, Clark Kent-like exterior shattered, the super-hero emerged and I vaulted selflessly into the smoke.  I effortlessly and instinctively pulled the red pin out of the nozzle and aimed at the mutinous flames.  With two high powered blasts, the fire was out.    

“Damn!”  Bear exclaimed. 

Sure that he was exalting my quick response in saving our kitchen from the flames, my super-hero, adrenaline-laced ego replied “I know…wow, I was awesome!”

He looked at me with misplaced bewilderment.  “No!  I mean damn, my pizza is ruined!”

“Oh.”  My shoulders dropped and the gluttonous confidence fell away. 

I am still cleaning up white powder from the extinguisher.  I have found it in every corner of the house.  Even in the phone booth where I removed my exciting, red cape in favor of my boring, Clark Kent clothes.