It’s not a fair world, I know, but there are really just some things that ought only to happen after you’ve had your coffee.
I woke up before Ginger did this morning, and decided I’d make a simple breakfast of coffee and oatmeal. Sleepyheaded and still-uncaffeinated, I set about the task of heating up some milk for the oats. Just after the pot hit the stovetop, our cat meowed for attention, and I looked away from the stove for no more than twenty seconds. The milk boiled over a little, and I turned in horror to deal with it. And then, as I was trying to contain the mess, a deafening shriek pierced my cranium–it sounded as if a five-mile-high bitchdemon had decided to shatter the Earth with 15kHz sonic waves. No, it was merely the fire alarm, which is apparently capable of producing a sound loud enough to be perceived by volunteer firemen 3,000 miles away in Nova Scotia.
Once I had scooped my brains off the floor and crammed them back into my skull via a bleeding, gaping ear canal, I began looking for the origin of the sound–for some way to silence it. I pulled a smoke detector from the ceiling (with no results) and fell from a stepladder, cutting my back on a hat rack as I plummeted. Somehow Ginger heard the phone ringing underneath the shrill cacophony. I answered it.
(It was the alarm company.)
“…” (I couldn’t hear her at all, naturally.)
“I BURNED THREE DROPS OF MILK AND NOW THE WORLD IS ENDING, HOLY FUCK, SAVE US!!!“
We hung up, nothing resolved. Finally I succeeded in punching a code into the alarm panel and silencing the damned thing. And then the fire truck arrived. Yeah. And I hadn’t even had my coffee yet.