With our family, it's always an adventure. Or a nightmare. Half full, half empty, dirty water. Whatever.
At 11 pm, because my wife is who she is, was cooking a whole chicken. For unknown reasons, this eventually set off our CO2 alarm. Immediately, team Roberson flew into action. Widows open. Move to fresh air. Alert the fire department. Check, check, check.
After a couple minutes, Astoria's bravest show up. Now you'd think they'd come in quite. It was late, and for all they knew, it wasn't really an emergency. Nope. From around the corner I could hear them. Sirens blaring, lights flashing. Thanks guys for letting the rest of the block know that we can't cook a chicken without putting all of 41st St. at risk.
Question: are all firemen descendants of a forgotten race of thick-accented giants, or just the ones in New York? How did these guys get so big? Is it something they eat, because we shop at the same grocery store. These dudes were huge. Even the fattest, least impressive - sort of their Webster - made me feel like Willow. "Sheesh. You guys want a real emergency, how about rescuing my confidence."
Finally, after a few moments of looking around and staring at a clicking box on their shirts, we got the all clear. I jokingly offered them some chicken, which they declined. I'm guessing they were thinking, "Keep the chicken. We'll settle for you not setting off alarms during the middle of PBS's post-debate coverage...kay?!"
Eventuallly, they left, much to the dissapoinment of my daughter, MONSTA. If I'm honest, she was a little TOO excited by their arrival. The minuite the truck pulled up, you would have thought the Beatles were coming over.
Bottom line: the Roberson clan is safe. We've got fresh batteries in the alarms, and WIFE is not allowed to cook after Jeopardy.
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