Friday Fuck-Up: Ten-Year Dejá Vu

A few weeks ago, I did something that I haven’t done since high school.  No, I didn’t stay up all night watching the entire Mighty Ducks series or eat nothing but French fries for all three meals.  Either of those things would have been preferable to what actually occurred.  No, friends, instead I burned a pot of rice, and not just a little bit.  I am still sketchy on what the exact sequence of events was that led to this tragic incident, but upon reflection on my tendency towards distraction, I am surprised that it hasn’t happened more often.

I still have a clear memory of the last such disaster.  I was probably about 16, and I was tasked with making Spanish rice from a packet to accompany dinner.  I put the rice on, forgot about it, and went to watch TV in the basement.  The squealing of the smoke detector was my first hint that something had gone horribly wrong.  After shaking her head in pity at my irresponsibility, my mom declared the pot irredeemable and tossed it in the trash.

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