Years ago, when Jeff purchased a set of two-way radios, I
admit I was less than impressed. Tonight, they played a significant role in
averting disaster.
I had stepped outside after dinner to enjoy the waning sunlight.
I made myself comfortable in one of our newly assembled Adirondack chairs, a
glass of wine in my hand and a magazine in my lap. The radio on my belt
crackled to life, and my husband’s voice asked “Do I smell what I think I
smell?”
It was only then that I remembered the cookies I had in the
oven. I grabbed my wine and magazine and clawed my way out of my comfortable
chair. I arrived in time to save my baked goods from total ruin, thanks to Jeff’s
timely inquiry. The bottoms were less than ideal, but not nearly as scorched as
the last batch I destroyed.
I was prepared to answer for their shortcoming. Had my
husband complained, I would have claimed that these are NOT burned, they are
merely a dark roast blend. Just the way
he likes.
I feel as penance, I must be forced to eat the
entire dozen, thus sparing my husband the horror of my baking.
