Soooo...ask me how I started my morning. Go ahead.
Okay, I'll tell you. By starting last night.
In what had started a decent enough day, by the ending I was ready to throw in the towel. Let's start at, ohhhh, say 5ish when Little woke up from her nap. And was she pissed off. Non stop crying, don't you dare put me down kind of attitude. So after an hour or so, I have her finally chilled out, and go to start dinner.
While outside for whatever reason, taking trash out, I see the one of the knobs on the grill turned. I go investigate and see the gas is on too. I distinctly remember shutting it down last time I cooked, so am baffled while it is on at all. Not that it matters, because it has been on long enough that a brand new bottle of gas is gone. I suppose we are lucky it didn't blow up or some shit.
Back inside trying to make dinner and Little is constantly under foot, dragging out pots and pans for me to step on or stub my toe. Then I can't find my little roasting pan. Looking everywhere but cannot find it. So I'm getting more annoyed. Fine, I'll use the big ass glass 13x9. For 3 flipping chicken breasts. Talk about overkill. Fine, so I get dinner going. 15 minutes, my timer goes off and I go in and flip the breasts over to the other side.
I don't even make it out of the kitchen when I hear this boom and then tinkling.
The goddamn pan exploded in the oven. Just shrapnel everywhere. Fuck this, call Shannon and tell her to bring home dinner. I seriously considered starting to drink heavily.
So my morning has been spent cleaning out what seems like 15 pounds of glass shards out of the oven. I only cut/impaled myself 3 times. Good times, good times.