Sometimes the best laid plans hit speed bumps. This past week, during a Dance Competition, I spent four nights in a hotel that came equipped with a fabulous kitchenette. This wee kitchen had a microwave, a fridge, a stove, a dishwasher, a coffee maker and a toaster. You get the idea; everything we could possibly need to make ourselves truly at home. We packed healthy groceries a variety of snacks to power us through long dance days and maybe even some delectable treats; all set for the week away and ready to make the most of our “home away from home”.
So what did I do to make ourselves feel truly at home? I set off the fire alarm. Sigh.
Distracted by all the goings on, the dance schedule, the applying of make-up, the taking of the ever important Mama/Daughter “We made it!” selfie. I popped a fat bagel in the toaster and let it toast. Or shall I say burn to a crisp! Before I knew it there was smoke spiralling up towards the ceiling and the fire alarm perched on the pristine white roof was screaming at me “You dumb blonde.. BEEP..the bagels on fire…BEEP…didn’t you smell the smoke…BEEP…pay attention….BEEP”. With fat cat like reflexes I jumped up on a chair, ripped a designer scarf from the dresser and began fanning like a wild woman. I started ever so gently yelling at my daughter to STAND BACK. I then jumped off said chair, unplugged the toaster and pried that fat smoking bagel out of the toaster. Back to the chair and fanned some more. Visions of firetrucks pulling up to the massive hotel swirled through my head. Thought of Managers and housekeeping breaking down my door and escorting me off the property flashed through my brain. I was sure they would have to empty the hotel and the entire conference hall currently stuffed with hundreds, no thousands? of dancers out into the cold in their teeny tiny outfits, all because I needed some carbs and cream cheese.
It was the longest 60 seconds of my life. The screaming BEEP BEEP BEEP stopped. The hallways were silent. Nobody even checked on us to see if we were okay?
Dear Daughter and I admired our handy work, the burnt up bagel, and vowed to never speak of this incident again. Well, at least until I blogged about it! The day of the burnt bagel and the fire alarm. Huh, turn out carbs really can be dangerous.
This post is so funny, as are a lot of them but don’t you hate the fire alarm. On the one hand they’re supposed to save us but on the other hand any time it goes off all we do is curse it and wack at it to shut it up.
Lol! Been there, done that!
Hahaha, that is quite the story. I’m surprised that no one even check up on you though.
LOL, what an adventure 😉 Honestly I pictured the burnt bagel to look much, much worse. I’m sure you can handle it with humour and ease if a hotel staff came knocking 😉
mmmm bagels…