Happy fireworks
Tuesday July 03rd 2007, 12:18 am
Filed under: Life

It’s got a few gray hairs too, now, doesn’t it? We don’t even use it anymore for barbecuing: the blacksmithing kid in the family (we accept luddites of every persuasion amongst us, declared the handspinner) has turned it into his personal forge–but *not* under the flammable olive tree when in use, thank you very much.

When we bought our first house, in New Hampshire, we were pretty excited (um, yeah in the way you are when you know what the alternative could be like) that we’d landed a mortgage with the lowest interest rate that had been available in several years–12.5%. That left our budget with not a whole lot of room for extras. Hence the untuned piano in the book, but I digress.

*But the hubby wanted to buy a barbecue grill. I said no way. He wanted a grill. I said no way. (Repeat pattern from asterisk till length desired or till you can’t stand it anymore.)

Which means we eventually got a grill.

Now, if I’d had any idea how much fun he was going to have with that thing, if I’d had any idea how much of the dinnertime work he was going to be taking over when he used it, I would never have argued a word. I would have shoved him firmly out the door towards the store, saying, g’buy now!

But then one day he decided that I needed to use the thing, too. How could I not love his favorite toy? C’mon, just come try it!

Yeah, right, like I couldn’t see right through that one? I had my hands full of babies, I had enough to keep me busy. This is your thing, dude, I want no part.

Come on!

Yeah, so, in the end, I did. He got me to come poke around with it, following his instructions. See? he said. You do this, then this.

I did exactly what he’d told me. Nada.

He’d forgotten one step in the process–he was used to just doing, not verbalizing it–and as I stood there looking at the thing sitting there thumbing its nose at me, he asked me, Did you push the start button?

What, this one? And I pushed it.

Now, I am 15″ closer to the ground than he is in the first place. My head was still reeking a bit when I showed up at my wide-eyed hairdresser’s, asking her if she could make this look, you know, on purpose? Please? I well remember her running her fingers through my hair and having some of it just kind of shred into little dark stinky pieces in my lap as she did. Not a whole lot of it–it could have been far, far worse. It was just enough that I am glad my children were too young to remember or be traumatized at seeing their mom’s face engulfed in a fireball, a view I never want to see from the inside again. Somehow my glasses saved my eyes, and no skin burned. Just a bit of hair.

I never touched that grill again. The hubby tried half-heartedly, and I totally refused.

Yeah, well-aged barbecue grillI guess I know how to play fire with fire. I’m actually kind of fond of the old clunker now, from a nice distance. And I’m told it makes a really good forge.


10 Comments so far
Leave a comment

Your posts leave me in stitches lately…

I won’t touch our grill, either. The thing terrifies me. If it was a charcoal grill, I would happily delight in cooking on it, but not gas.

Comment by Amanda 07.03.07 @ 5:13 am

ok all I can muster up is YIKES!!!

Comment by rho 07.03.07 @ 8:29 am

Alison, thanks for all your cheering notes of late. My book drama is in full swing and causing much anxiety. Your well-wishes are much appreciated!

Oh, and funny you should mention the grill. I am good at cooking on open fires. In fireplaces. I’m even game to try woodstoves. The gas grill? Entirely my husband’s domain. I could probably work it out, but your story is another great reason to keep up my avoidance campaign!

Comment by Joanne 07.03.07 @ 8:52 am

At my in-laws’ 50th wedding anniversary, my sister-in-law had done a slide show of lots of old pictures of all of us. Our kids, most of them teenagers, were howling over the clothing styles and the owl-eyed glasses (while we laughed, too, but told them, Just wait. Your turn will come.) I can point to this story as the reason why huge Jackie O’s on my face in the early 80’s were a good idea after all.

Comment by AlisonH 07.03.07 @ 10:13 am

Your DH has his toys and you have yours. And I’m so glad all that was hurt was a bit of hair. I’m sure it wasn’t quite so funny then as the re-telling is now.

Comment by Alison 07.03.07 @ 12:17 pm

Re-purposing something, very cool! And, yeah, I’ve done the fireball thing too. Fortunately whilst leaning away. I use my George Forman grill now….

Comment by Carol 07.03.07 @ 1:16 pm

Glad to hear I’m not the only one who has done that. I was amazed at the time how quickly I managed to “stop, drop and roll”. Though I wear glasses, I did manage to singe off all of my eyelashes and some eyebrows in addition to my bangs. My husband still tries to persuade me to BBQ, on occasion — A tribute to his Taurean stubbornness no doubt.

Comment by Kate 07.04.07 @ 5:59 am

The certainly would have been fuel for nightmares for the kiddos. That happened to my best friend and she lost eyebrows, some lashes and had to have the inside of her nose treated at the ER.

Comment by Sonya 07.04.07 @ 10:03 am

Yikes is right! I hate gas. Any gas appliance. Gas belongs in cars. When first married, it took me ages to get used to the 40’s vintage gas stove in my husband’s apartment. Actually, I never did get used to it. šŸ˜‰ It scared me to death every time I used it until we moved out 8 years later. Gimme charcoal, or a campfire, or if the power’s out an ancient kitchen wood/trashburner with 2 burners — anything but gas!

Comment by MonicaPDX 07.05.07 @ 3:01 am

Oops. Glad it just got the hair…

Comment by Tracy 07.05.07 @ 6:32 am



Leave a comment
Line and paragraph breaks automatic, e-mail address never displayed, HTML allowed: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>

(required)

(required)