Every epic starts somewhere.
A simple roast.
I was preparing a magnificent London broil.
One final blast under the broiler. A perfect crust. Victory was within my grasp.
A true story. With minor exaggerations.
The final maneuver.
Almost dinner.
I lifted the glass dish from the oven and set it on the stove.
Then the steak juice touched the scorching glass.
A suspiciously quiet kitchen.
An unprovoked attack.
The betrayal.
The cookware EXPLODED.
Flaming-hot shards shot across the kitchen. Dinner had declared war.
Sound effect supplied by the bakeware.
The enemy regroups.
The second wave.
While I dodged the airborne attack, the enemy quietly redeployed.
Its destination: every square inch beneath my feet.
The floor had joined the opposition.
ACTUAL ALTITUDE: 3 INCHESReflexes beyond comprehension.
Cat-like reflexes.
I launched myself backward with the grace of a seasoned warrior.
During my magnificent quarter-foot descent from the sky, I knew I had made it.
Safety. At last.
The floor has entered the chat.
A tactical error.
But alas. The bakeware had anticipated my escape.
My foot descended. The glass was waiting.
AREA ATTACK: SHATTERED GLASS MINEFIELD.
A warrior's battle cry.
Message received.
A scream erupted from somewhere deep within my soul.
This was going to be a hospital visit.
The neighbors may have heard this panel.
DISTANCE: EMOTIONALLY, SEVERAL MILESThe kitchen is now a continent.
The long way out.
The other side of the kitchen now lay several thousand miles away.
Between us: an entire battlefield of glass.
I shifted onto the edges of my feet and began the world's least heroic retreat.
At last, friendly territory.
Sanctuary. Mostly.
I reached the bathroom, where Cybyl helped me.
There I lay, battered and defeated, contemplating my impending visit to Tennova.
A moment to reconsider my cookware.
Back at the scene of the crime.
One thing survived.
Meanwhile, back in the kitchen…
The London broil had a magnificent crust.