Well, it was an enjoyable Independence Day weekend until I destroyed my grill tonight with a grease fire that I estimate burned unattended for ten minutes.
(Gee, I’ve never seen the little thermometer built into the lid read 925º before.)
It wasn’t particularly expensive, but it worked well for what we wanted. There was nothing wrong with it, so there’s no immediate budget to replace it.
However, my irritation at its loss is dwarfed by the freakout I’m still in the middle of. I don’t know how much longer it would have taken to set the deck or the house on fire, but I’m confident it was more than halfway to doing so.
I’ve fired a gas grill and left it alone for 10 to 15 minutes all my adult life. Tonight I did exactly the same thing and had it seared in my soul just how plausibly I could have destroyed my home. I wasn’t distracted. I wasn’t intoxicated. I just did what I always do. (Did what I always did. I think I’m not going to do that anymore.)
Wonder what time I’ll get to sleep tonight?