You ever watch HGTV and immediately feel like you’re a world class interior designer and harshly judge every professional’s design choice you see as if you could do better?
Yeah, so anyway, the other night you couldn’t tell me I didn’t have a stroke or a seizure. So, my wife and I are sitting in bed, we’d just gotten the baby down and were enjoying some downtime before we were Milly Rockin’ through dreamland ourselves. I’m haphazardly scrolling through social media when I get the unmistakable smell of toast, freshly burnt toast. Now, because we live in old military housing that’s insulated with old chewing gum and used paper towels, I just assumed one of our neighbors wanted breakfast; but after a while, it wouldn’t go away, it only got stronger. I asked my wife if she could smell it, and when she couldn’t, I took a trip on down to good ole Dr. Google. Based on my symptoms, I was floating somewhere between a stroke or seizure. Before I could freak out, I had wifey talk me off the ledge and back into reality. I needed to calmly assess how I felt so I took a deep breath, sat my phone in my lap, and settled into my body… it seemed to help at first, but I still smelled the goddamn toast!
Before I could step fully into second-wave freak out mode, it hit me. I looked over and saw the subtle orange glow coming from the little box on my nightstand. I laughed the hardiest laugh I could muster without waking the baby. You see, about thirty minutes earlier I turned on the baby wipe warmer and restocked it all the way to the top, and the burnt toast I was smelling was the smell of freshly heated wipes. I had already forgotten I’d done it...
I put my phone on the charger and took my sleep-deprived ass to bed. Parenting amirite?
Anyway, let me get back to judging these amateurs and I’ll holla at y’all later.
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