The Exploding Thermos

Thick, slimy, green goo clung to the ceiling, with an occasional drop succumbing to gravity and landing into the sink below with a moist plop. Green splatters plastered the kitchen window, nearby cabinets and floor. A sweet, slightly fermented smell reached my nostrils as I walked into the kitchen; my stomach recoiled at the sight.

Moments before, I had tried opening a thermos containing a spinach and berry smoothie that I had stuck in the fridge several days ago and then set in the sink the day before. I twisted the lid with all my strength, but it wouldn’t budge. I contemplated banging a knife along the lid edge, but decided against it.

“I’ll have William take it off tomorrow,” I mused, setting the thermos back into the sink and limping my way to the bathroom.

I had no sooner picked up my toothbrush when a most peculiar sound echoed throughout the house-the whoosh of air, a loud bang, then…silence. Immediately, my mind went to Hobbs. I envisioned him climbing my new curtains only to have the whole thing come crashing down, including the curtain rod, leaving gaping holes where the screws used to be. With that picture in mind, I limped toward the kitchen yelling, “Hobbes! What have you done now!”.

Scanning the kitchen floor, my eyes immediately found Hobbes who was innocently sitting by the trash can, sporting a matching look of surprise. I still considered him guilty and began making my way toward him, but the plop and sickening sweet smell distracted me. I slowly turned my gaze from Hobbes to the sink area. An explosive splatter of chartreuse goo greeted me; in only a matter of seconds I made the connection. Inadvertently, I had created my own chemistry experiment and set off a bomb.

Each moist plop made me cringe with disgust and, inwardly, I groaned. It was almost ten o’clock and cleaning up green, nasty goo was the last thing I wanted to do after a tiring day of driving, but it had to be done or I would be scraping this stuff off.

As I dragged a chair over, I made a mental note to pick up a step ladder some time in the near future and suppressed images of my falling off the thing and acquiring an additional broken bone. Carefully I stood on the chair, reached up to the ceiling and began wiping. Actually, it was more like smearing. Green slime coated the dishcloth and a residual thick film stubbornly clung to the ceiling.

I wiped, rinsed, wiped, rinsed and wiped some more until every trace of chartreuse slime was eradicated. I then turned my attention to the sink.

The culprit was filled with frothy, bubbling green slime overflowing the sides; it’s lid lying close by, the catapulted victim of fermented plant gas. I can only imagine how epic it would have been to see the explosion in action.

Excitement over and the kitchen once more clean, I shooed Hobbes out of the chair and slid it over to it’s place at the table. As I did so, a memory of another self-perpetuated explosion came out of the depths and I chuckled to myself. I am the queen of incidents and accidents. Along the way, I’ve had to learn to laugh at myself and not take the mishaps so seriously.

And who doesn’t love a moment to laugh when all else around us is so trying?

“A joyful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones”- Proverbs 17:22

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