And Aunt Martha slept through the whole thing...
It's been a loooong morning for only being 7:54. About 4:45, I woke up just 'cause it was hot and decided to get a drink. Met Jarrod coming into the kitchen. He said, "What are you doing here?" Apparently it wasn't obvious by the pop can I was holding to my lips. Anyway. Witty banter. Bedtime. A few minutes later, "SCREEEEEEEEEEE!"
Our carbon monoxide detector went off. Lovely. Jarrod got up and checked it out. Plugged it into pretty much every outlet we have. "SCREEEEEEEEE!" every time. Consistency is overrated. So we opened windows and the back door, and we decided we'd better not mess around with this, especially given our recent history with the minor gas leak and my sleepiness and breathing problems. So I woke up Thomas, who somehow slept through the "SCREEEEEE!"ing, dressed him, and took him outside. Jarrod came out, too, and called 911, and the first few times, the call didn't go through. Scary. This is exactly what always happens in my nightmares.
Finally, "Nine-one-one. What's your emergency?" just like on TV. Next time this happens, we'll tell them we're all safely outside except our giant Aunt Martha, who won't wake up. Instead, it was many chilly moments later before we saw the ambulance coming down the street. Out jumped two twelve-year-old fireboys with what looked like bed-head. "Hey, how's it goin'," one asked. Well, we're not dead, so... good, I guess.
"At least," Jarrod pointed out, "they're big enough to carry us outside if we had needed it." Um, me and Thomas, maybe. You and Aunt Martha gotta fend for yourself, buddy.
They went in and checked the air quality and said it was fine and we could go back in. Said our detector is just old and went crazy. They apologized for the delay, saying they had just come from a fire, and normally they wouldn't be so dirty, either. I said "That's okay," but that was before I saw my kitchen floor. No, really, it's okay. If I had white carpet instead of broken, already-dirty, used-to-be-white tile, I'd have been mad-- mad meaning crazy for putting white carpet in my kitchen. Anyway.
After the fireboys asked to borrow a pen so they could fill out the incorrect form because they didn't have the right one, they left, and a great sigh of relief was heaved by all the barefoot, nightshirted neighbors who had been peering through their blinds since the ambulance lights first glared into their windows. We at Hamrick House sighed too, and stripped back down to our knickers. All except me. I got a shower, got dressed, and started my day. And except for Aunt Martha, who slept through the whole thing.
Our carbon monoxide detector went off. Lovely. Jarrod got up and checked it out. Plugged it into pretty much every outlet we have. "SCREEEEEEEEE!" every time. Consistency is overrated. So we opened windows and the back door, and we decided we'd better not mess around with this, especially given our recent history with the minor gas leak and my sleepiness and breathing problems. So I woke up Thomas, who somehow slept through the "SCREEEEEE!"ing, dressed him, and took him outside. Jarrod came out, too, and called 911, and the first few times, the call didn't go through. Scary. This is exactly what always happens in my nightmares.
Finally, "Nine-one-one. What's your emergency?" just like on TV. Next time this happens, we'll tell them we're all safely outside except our giant Aunt Martha, who won't wake up. Instead, it was many chilly moments later before we saw the ambulance coming down the street. Out jumped two twelve-year-old fireboys with what looked like bed-head. "Hey, how's it goin'," one asked. Well, we're not dead, so... good, I guess.
"At least," Jarrod pointed out, "they're big enough to carry us outside if we had needed it." Um, me and Thomas, maybe. You and Aunt Martha gotta fend for yourself, buddy.
They went in and checked the air quality and said it was fine and we could go back in. Said our detector is just old and went crazy. They apologized for the delay, saying they had just come from a fire, and normally they wouldn't be so dirty, either. I said "That's okay," but that was before I saw my kitchen floor. No, really, it's okay. If I had white carpet instead of broken, already-dirty, used-to-be-white tile, I'd have been mad-- mad meaning crazy for putting white carpet in my kitchen. Anyway.
After the fireboys asked to borrow a pen so they could fill out the incorrect form because they didn't have the right one, they left, and a great sigh of relief was heaved by all the barefoot, nightshirted neighbors who had been peering through their blinds since the ambulance lights first glared into their windows. We at Hamrick House sighed too, and stripped back down to our knickers. All except me. I got a shower, got dressed, and started my day. And except for Aunt Martha, who slept through the whole thing.
posted by laeta369 @ 5:23 PM
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