This afternoon I had a little adventure in the kitchen. I was home alone with my sister, and my sister was at the computer. If I had older, wiser, or nosier family members at home with me, it would not have happened. But I get brilliant ideas when I'm alone that turn out to be not so brilliant.
I was going to have some chocolate chip ice cream. I scooped some into a bowl, got out the hot fudge, and suddenly had one of those "brilliant" ideas. I decided that I would melt some caramel in the microwave and put it on my ice cream. I unwrapped four caramels and into the microwave they went. For only 20-30 seconds. I took them out. They did not look at all delicious... Part of the caramels had indeed melted and turned black and bubbly. I touched the black-and-bubbly part. OUCH. The phrase "blonde moment" comes to mind. You would think that I would be smart enough to do the math. My finger didn't hurt for very long, fortunately.
I melted the caramel some more and took them out of the microwave in a hurry when I started to hear a hissing noise in there. I stirred the caramel around, thinking, "This might work..." But in stirring the caramel around, I stirred in the black parts too. I ditched the whole idea. I put my bowl of ice cream into the freezer - I didn't need melted ice cream on top of everything else! I spooned some of the caramel into the trashcan, wrinkling my nose at the little black bits mixed into it. I then turned to the sink to puzzle over how best to clean the quickly-hardening caramel out of the little bowl. I REALLY didn't want anyone to know about my kitchen problems and stupidity. The spoon I had stirred the caramel with was pretty easy. But that bowl. *shudders* I soaked it in hot water, and scraped and scraped and soaked and... augh. I was so glad that I had cut my fingernails a few nights before, because I would certainly have broken several in the scraping process.
FINALLY I got all the caramel out, and either into the trash can or down the drain or vanished somehow or other. I ate my ice-cream without further decoration than hot fudge and enjoyed it very much. And I told my mother later that day. She thought it was pretty funny, but I don't think she would have thought it so funny if I had left it for her to clean.
So. That was my minor kitchen catastrophe for the day. At least, it seemed like a catastrophe at the time. It also seemed very interesting, but now it just seems stupid and dull. The moral of the story is: Never leave me alone in the kitchen for too long.