Yesterday I was making a quiche when my blood sugar suddenly dropped. I shakily tried to put the quiche into the oven and spilled creamy egg soup all over my counter, stove, oven door, and down the cabinets to the floor.
I live in an apartment so carefully set up that even the toaster sets off the smoke alarms, so when I run the oven I generally turn on the living room fan and crack a window to draw out any hint of smoke that might cause problems.
While I was cleaning up the quiche disaster I heard pop, pop, pop. If my hands hadn't been shaking I might have turned around sooner, but it wouldn't have mattered. Tildy, my pet balloon, that I wrote about a few days ago with such fondness, was now totally wrapped up in the ceiling fan!
After mopping the floor, cleaning the cabinets, scrubbing the oven and blotting the rug in the kitchen, I took my step stool to try and detach Tildy's tail from my fan. But I have nine foot ceilings and my step stool has nothing to hold onto when I am on the top step.
Unbalanced, still sweating from the low blood sugar and out of whack from pulling a muscle in my back this week, I could not reach my so-called pet balloon that I had ecstatically compared to having a flying cat, so now I have a balloon tightly wrapped around the ceiling fan and I am waiting for my son-in-law to come by this week and detach it.
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