Don't get me wrong, my husband is absolutely the best. Without his support and willingness to look after the kids, share the cleaning and all the other chores I wouldn't be able to write.
However, sometimes he does man-things.
By man-things I don't mean weeing standing up, finding interesting things to say about cars, or shaving faces.
But things that make perfect, logical sense, though in their execution go horribly, terribly wrong.
This was our house a couple of days ago.
Hubby was zipping around the lounge room with the vacuum cleaner, doing an outstanding job with the carpets, when his gaze rested on the wood-burning stove in the corner. It was out, hadn't been lit since the day before. We'd discussed that it needed the ash clearing out and he had an idea, so good, so completely brilliant, that, without thinking twice he opened the door and shoved the end of the vacuum into the dead ashes.
Only they weren't so dead.
Within seconds there was smoke pouring out of the vacuum.
Yes. We found out the hard way that if you put warm embers in a vacuum bag filled with dust and air rushing past you can have a cheery blaze in a matter of moments.
Sigh.
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