My first home as a newlywed was a double wide trailer parked on six acres in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies. The first thing my husband did after we moved in was describe the magnificent log home we would someday build on the property. The second thing he did seemed a little odd at the time. He spent about twenty minutes talking about fire safety and how mobile homes were tinder boxes that could be consumed by fire in just a few minutes. I was soon to discover exactly how serious he was about the subject.
Just a few weeks later I was making breakfast in the kitchen and a small flame shot up from the top of the toaster. I unplugged it and went on with my business thinking I would have to clean out the crumbs later. Suddenly another flame jumped up and I realized that something inside it was seriously burning. I called out in what I thought was a calm voice, that I had a small fire in the kitchen. Before I could say or do anything else he was there. He had made it across half the length of the trailer in just a few seconds.
Without saying a word he grabbed the toaster by the cord, threw open the door and stepped out onto the cement slab that was our temporary patio. He swung it around his head like a lasso and then smashed it onto the cement and into a thousand pieces. Walking back in the house with no hint of emotion in his voice he said, “Fires out” and went back into the living room. I stood stunned trying to figure out what had just happened.
He came back into the kitchen a few minutes later with a sheepish look on his face. Apologizing he told me he would clean up the mess outside after breakfast. If I hadn’t listened to his speech about fire safety the message sent by the flying toaster came through loud and clear. He never had to say or smash another thing.
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