You may recall my battle with making the perfect brownies - well I have given up on trying to make them from scratch and started buying the "just add water and egg" mixes. Mainly because they have now found a way to not make me have to wash up after baking which is just freaking awesome. (In other words the brownie kits now come with an origami degree required to assemble the reflective card baking tray) so I am standing by the whole "if you heat it up at home it's home-made" rule.
I recently did some Cadbury Brownie's and of course, only half of the chocolate chips made it into the mix and the other half made it into my mouth.
The brownies went well except I had to give them 10-15 minutes longer than it said as they were still runny in the middle. Whoever guessed my brownie cooking issues were caused by my oven temperature being wrong may just be right!
So I was dancing around the kitchen celebrating my awesomeness and sneaking the odd cooling brownie from the tray before D came home when I decided I would wash up a couple of items while I waited for him so we could eat brownies. (I know this seems counter-productive given my whole 'woohoo I don't HAVE to wash up deal' but it's different when it's a choice and not an expectation.)
Apparently my kitchen doesn't think I'm so awesome, as partway through running some water, a carving knife slid off the counter and landed on the floor. Right where my foot would have been had I not just performed a gymnastic twist and stretch to get my feet clear.
Okay, I hear you... that happens to everyone.
I then carried a milk pan in my LEFT hand over the the sink - as I got there the huge GLASS lid of our frying pan slid from a different worktop on my LEFT. If I'd have had this ruddy milk pan in my other hand I could have saved it - but as it is this huge glass lid fell, hit my ankles and then smashed into a gazillion pieces onto the floor.
I think I must have the "oh shit I can't move" face plastered on as he takes a concerned look at me and says - "can you move? are you okay?"
My ankle is hurting a hell'uve a lot and I wimper "It hit my ankle and it hurts and I don't know if there is glass in it..."
D took one look at my sock covered feet, surrounded by glass - he stepped toward me - told me to hold on - and lifted me up off the floor and carried me over to the other side of the kitchen.
Now I'm not a big girly girl, and I do like to save myself a lot, but after a lifetime of doing so this small act caused my heart to roll-over in my chest and my thoughts got positively liquid.
Once I'd recovered I got over the whole 'oh god I bet he thinks I'm really heavy' thought as I gingerly pulled my socks off to find - yes they were covered in glass bits but no my feet were fine.
D swept up all the glass - totally awesome - and then knowing me so well even though he'd cleared all the glass up and re-swept several times (with me shouting such helpful advice as; 'you've swept it under the table again' 'you missed a bit' 'the bags ripped so you'll have to start over') he walked over to me, took his shoes off, and laid them at my feet so I could wear them out of the room as he walked barefoot.
I know it sounds corny, but that small act of kindness of lifting me out of the glass and giving me his shoes - makes him my hero.
I can't help but imagine if the shoe was on the other foot (no pun intended) and I'd have walked in to him smashing the glass lid the situation would have involved me stood there arms crossed while he cleaned it up and I kept saying "How are we gonna cook sausages now then, eh? eh? how?
Yeah he wins the 'better person' award....for now anyway.