Those of you with RSS readers, or with so much time on your hands that you're always hitting "refresh" on this site, might already have seen this headline. I accidentally managed to send a mangled, incomplete version of this post last night, which I'll blame on the Lunesta.
It's probably a bit ironic, then, because the story I had intended to tell was a cautionary tale about why another harmful chemical, vodka, should be outlawed.
Or, at least, the too-yummy vodka at my favorite new Manhattan gay bar, Vlada.
Hubbie and I met up there with a number of friends after dinner and proceeded to take a tour through their home-brewed infused vodkas. Among those I can recommend personally: cranberry, pineapple, peach, apple-cinnamon, and ginger. I am sure there were others too, but for some odd reason, they're not coming to me at the moment.
After a few more hours and another stop on the way home, something gooey and fattening was sounding very good to us. We're in a bit of a mac-n-cheese rut these days, so we decided to pull out all the stops: a box of Kraft Deluxe Macaroni and Cheese.
A little after 3 a.m., I brought some water to a boil, then threw the noodles into the pot. I carefully set the timer for 10 minutes.
We parked it in front of the TV. But unfortunately, we were on The Cloud. You see, The Cloud has this strange, deeply narcotic effect whenever you lie down on it. No matter how alert you might be, it has the power to drag your body effortlessly off to sleep.
Knowing this, Hubbie prodded me a couple of times and asked if I had set the timer. Of course I had. I'm not all irresponsible-like.
About an hour later, we awoke to the shrill squeal of the smoke detector. I leapt from the sofa to the kitchen in a single bound. The water had completely evaporated from the pot, leaving a half-scorched, congealed mass of macaroni behind, belching putrid smoke.
I hit the reset button on the smoke alarm and took the pot from the burner. Eh, it didn't look all that bad. Besides, when I eat lasagna, I love the crusty, overcooked corner pieces best. I drunkenly devoured my half; Hubbie politely declined.
Yesterday we were lolling in bed into the early afternoon when I heard what I could have sworn was the beeping of the timer on the stove. I went to the kitchen to investigate. Sure enough, the timer had gone off and now displayed "END" on its LCD screen.
I did some quick math in my head. The 10 minutes that I had so carefully entered into the timer the night before had actually been 10 hours. Maybe I thought I was cooking mac-n-cheese the Crockpot way?
Beware, Toby: This could be your life in 12 years!