Oven

I once had a roommate who would be completely BAFFLED anytime I was cooking something in the oven. I could see him from my room – he’d come into the kitchen and would notice the oven was on. He’d scrunch up his face with a “huh?” and then open the oven door. To “investigate” I suppose. He’d look in and then close the door, practically scratching his head. Then he’d walk over to me. “Ummm…Xmas…are you cooking something in the oven?” I mean, how can you even answer that? Let’s see…if YOU didn’t put anything in the oven and turn it on, and there’s only one other person that lives there…wait, wait, dots aint connected yet…….

I should’ve said “You know what, now that you mention it, about 20 minutes ago I noticed a guy in a blue suit with a hat on walk in, place a 9 x 12 casserole dish in the oven and turn it to 375 degrees…I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but….” Fucking Christ. Or I shoulda completely flipped out. “WHAT??!?!!? What the – where the FUCK did these cookies come from?? This is BULLSHIT, man!!!!”