But when it was bad it was HORRID

This seems to be my motto lately, actually, I can't think of a time when it wasn't. I remember my mom reciting the limerick: "there was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was good, she was very very good, but when she was bad she was HORRID." When I was a little girl, I tried very hard to be good, but occasionally if things didn't go my way, I could scream and kick with the best of them. Happily, I have grown out of the kicking and screaming tantrums, but I have never grown out of the tendency for things to turn from bad to horrid quickly. Take this hair, for example. Thin hair that can't decide whether to be curly or strait, but is determined to never ever be long. Mix this with a shower before bed a few tosses and turns, and you get a hair-do never to be forgotten. If hair could throw tantrums, I am pretty sure this is what it would look like.

Or this dinner as another example. See that lovely ham in the background of this picture. It was delicious! Our home teachers brought it over a week or two before Christmas. We were also given a turkey from John's work, so we decided to spread the feast out over two nights. I've always had a soft spot for yams with toasted marshmallows on top, and I had a bunch from Bountiful Baskets that needed to be cooked up. It sounded like a perfect dinner to me, and I was happy...until I noticed that I was smelling smoke! I opened the oven to just to have FLAMES burst out of the door and reach up over the top of the stove. Startled, I closed the door and tried to decide what to do. I've had a gas explosion in the oven before, but that was quickly finished, along with the hair on my arms. What do you do when there is an actual sustained burn with flames. Finally I decided that I would handle it just like I would handle a burning marshmallow over a campfire. I opened the door slowly this time and blew air onto the fire. Slowly the flames died down. And just like a burned campfire marshmallow, I was able to peel off the black part, dispose of it and toast the remaining marshmallows nicely before anyone noticed. The only evidence that John had when he came home a few minutes later was the smell of something burning. Sadly, that is pretty common, so he didn't suspect a thing. After the adrenaline rush wore off, I did show him the burnt marshmallows that I tossed in the garbage. I couldn't resist.