Conversation with My Wife (98)

Where we review the combustion triangle and cookies made in remote cabins

You may remember our previously mentioned virtual family:

Conversation with My Wife (80)

Cast of characters (using initials to protect the innocent and easily embarrassed):

P: Wife, mother of two daughters, daughter of AUNT NORMA.

D: Husband to P of many years, boyfriend in college, father to her daughters.

C: College buddy of P & D. Still a good family friend, which makes me wonder what stories she would be able to tell.

DEB: My wife, for those of you joining us late. Just an observer for this Conversation.

AUNT NORMA: Not my wife’s real aunt, but she was Deb’s mom’s roommate in college and has known Deb since birth.

So when we get together we get to talking about… stuff. Old stuff, sometimes.

ME: Okay, wait, you were in some cabin off somewhere —

P: And I decided it would be nice to have peanut butter cookies! But all we had in the cabin was peanut butter, sugar, and Bisquick. So I mixed that together and baked them, but I forgot to move the oven shelf, which was still in the top position. And the Bisquick made them expand, which I had not counted on. So they caught fire.

ME: That makes no sense. They would have to come in contact with a heating element or something, and that would only happen if you turned to oven to broil. Which nobody would do.

P: I was just a student!

ME: In college!

P: You put something in the oven, you set the temperature, you turn the dial thing, the light comes on, you walk away. This was not my fault!

ME: But when you checked on the cookies —

P: Actually, there was smoke coming out of the oven. It kinda smelled.

ME: (pause) Okay, so when you check on the smelly smoke coming out of the oven —

P: I screamed and went to get D. He was taking a nap. (D is sitting with us while wearing an amused expression on his face that says, “I am in no way responsible for this woman’s actions.”)

ME: After closing the oven door.

P: I didn’t know I was supposed to do that.

ME: So you went to get D —

P: Only C was with us that weekend and was on the phone to her mom. So I screamed, “THERE’S A FIRE!” at her and hung up the phone. Which I found out later freaked out her mom.

ME: I have no idea why.

P: So I go wake up D, scream “THERE’S A FIRE!” and he gets out of bed still just wearing his boxers and comes downstairs. Doesn’t ask me anything. Doesn’t say anything. Just walks downstairs, where C is freaking out, walks over to the oven, gets a pot holder, grabs the pan, dumps it in the sink, turns on the water, then goes back to bed. Still hasn’t said anything.

ME: So what did we learn from this?

P: Peanut butter Bisquick cookies catch fire?

ME: (pause) Not what I was looking for. I would say that it’s more that you tend to panic, and your husband tends to keep a cooler head. Also that he must love you very, very much if he proposed to you and married you.

D: I think that’s a good summary!

P: No, I was just young! At least it wasn’t like high school chem class!

AUNT NORMA: What, dear? I am not sure I have heard this story.

P: Okay, it was 11th grade chem class, and there were burners going at the lab table, and I spilled some solvent, which kinda caught fire. So I got some paper towels to cover it.

ME: Okay, that was good! (going into geeksplain mode) See, you have the combustion triangle (makes triangle with my fingers) consisting of fuel, heat, and oxygen. By throwing the wet paper towels to cover it, you cooled the fire AND separated it from the oxygen, (removes two sides of the finger triangle) thereby stopping the combustion. Well done!

P: What made you think I wet the paper towels first?

ME: Because… no, you… seriously, you… (awkward choking noises) YOU PUT DRY PAPER TOWELS ON A SOLVENT FIRE?!

D: (makes a gesture that says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the woman I married!”)

AUNT NORMA: But wouldn’t that make it worse? (from other people this would be sarcasm, but Aunt Norma means it sincerely)

ME: (awkward choking noises meant to signal assent)*

P: Anyway, it’s important to be careful when making peanut butter Bisquick cookies.

Aunt Norma would like to have a peanut butter Bisquick cookie bake-off between me and P. In our kitchen, because she lives in a retirement community where people get upset when the fire alarm goes off.

Just for grins I made a test batch.

Actual homemade peanut butter Bisquick cookies, baked and photographed by the author. Not on fire, you will notice. Also not very good; I suspect there are ingredients other than “peanut butter” and “Bisquick” that P failed to mention. Or maybe it’s just as well the originals ended up soggy in the sink.

Nobody died.

Copyright © 2018 by Jack Herlocker.

*And no, I never asked how the chem lab fire got put out.

Edited after publishing at the suggestion of an anonymous person (we’ll call them Roger, not that such name should imply sexual identity, eyeglasses prescription, or preference for cats over dogs) who felt the anonymous letters should be replaced by pseudonyms to suggest gender. Initially I rejected this obvious attempt to impose gender identification when unnecessary, but two seconds later I added the cast of characters at the beginning because when I read other people’s stories I do voices in my head, and I hate getting halfway through and finding Chris is actually a big blonde female while Fran is a guy. Also cleaned up the footnotes, which Roger hated (because sorry, Your Friends @ Medium, but Medium footnotes *suck*, mostly because there aren’t any real ones) and were now 75% unnecessary.

Conversations with My Wife (collection)