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Monday, July 2, 2012

Smokehouse

When I first saw this photo on Facebook I thought
someone had gone overboard with the vegemite.

Isn't it a joy when young sprogs start to make their own breakfast, allowing their parents an extra fifteen minutes of snooze time.

Our bedroom is off the dining room and the sweetest sound in the world is our little munchkins spilling milk and breaking plates while we shove our heads even further into our pillows and pretend they're doing fine. It's very refreshing.

Friends of ours posted this photo on Facebook yesterday of their son's breakfast. They didn't wake to the sound of breaking plates and dropped bowls of milk. Oh no, they woke to the refreshing sound of smoke alarms and the smell of burning.

Batteries can be removed, but the smell of burnt toast took over two hours to leave the kitchen.

"What were you thinking?" Dave asked his son while they opened windows and started the fans - cause that's what you want to do on a winter's morning, isn't it, get a breeze going. "How many times did you push the toast down?"

"Three." But he'd also turned the dial all the way to dark.

I know what he was thinking. Cooking bread once makes toast, which tastes great. Therefore, cooking bread three times will make awesome toast. There's a certain logic there which I think needs to be applauded and encouraged. Once the smell goes.

"And you!" Dave asked his oldest daughter. "Didn't you see the smoke?"

"Yep," she answered him. She could hardly have missed it. There isn't a smoke alarm in the kitchen area. To reach the alarm the smoke had to firstly fill the kitchen ceiling cavity enough to duck under top of the door frame and then waft it's way down the hall.

"And you saw what was causing all the smoke?"

"Yep," she answered him. She was sitting at the dining table watching him while she ate.

"And what did you do?"

"Nothing," she told him. 

"Nothing?"

"No wait," she said, thinking of something. "I ate my toast." 

What a trooper. Even in the face of disaster she kept her head and thought to finish the most important meal of the day.

You possibly won't be surprised to learn, in the interests of snatching that elusive fifteen minutes of extra sleep on weekends, the toaster now lives on the dresser beside Mum & Dad's bed.

Next to the kettle, waffle maker and the electric knife.




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About Me

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Bruce Devereaux is one of the nicest people he knows. When not at work he enjoys reading, writing, hiding from his children and not changing nappies.

 

His career, and if we used the term any more loosely an e might fall out, has included a gardener, a personal lender, a console operator, a stop/go man (not as big a bludge as you might think but great if you’re into sunburn, abuse and varicose veins), a cleaner of banks and pubs and, for a very brief period, a door to door salesman (until the last door he knocked on was answered by a very scary woman with tremendously hairy legs).

 

Bruce Devereaux currently works as a forty-five-year-old award winning customer service officer (glass statuette available upon request) for the Bank of Queensland and as a very casual employee for Corrective Services. He likes to believe he excels at both but then he has always been prone to exaggeration.

 

His favourite colour is green, with a picture of Dame Nellie Melba on one side and General Sir John Monash on the other. His favourite flower is self-raising.

 If you see him around town, call his wife immediately - he's probably snuck out and left her alone with all the kids.


 

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