Fwoosh

On Friday night, Jeff and I had invited Rob and Char over for supper. Because Jeff was working late, it was my job to cook, which was fun. So I puttered around the kitchen, feeling very domestic, and when it was the proper time, I went outside and lit the barbecue. The BBQ we have here is a bit goofy, because when you light it, it's a big, brief fireball and then it's working perfectly. It's kind of neat. So the grill is going, and I go out a bit later with some potatoes wrapped in foil, for making baked potatoes obviously. Later I put the chicken on (a lemon garlic marinated chicken, pretty good, though I think I cooked the chicken a bit too long, seemed just on the dry side, but only just) and cook everything up. We also had pie and Taco Salad (Mandy's recipe, made by Charlotte) and Toffee Tarts (not their real name, but also from a recipe by Mandy, but I made them) and it was great fun. Somewhere in all of that I put my hand to my head, either to scratch an itch, or to smooth my hair. When I did that, I made a discovery. Ever since I lit the BBQ, I had been smelling somthing that smelled vaguely like a burning match. I figured that the aroma from the BBQ had just wafted downstairs with me. Turns out I had actually singed the hair on my head, and I had been smelling burnt hair. My eyelashes were also singed, but my eyebrows were fine. I guess the fireball had been bigger than I thought. Guess that's one way to get a trim.