One day during Dave's recent visit, he watched as, bare-fingered, I grabbed the ceramic grate off my hot stove top in an absent-minded daze. He fretted over the toaster's proximity to the sink. Concern spread across his face when he asked how I coaxed my toast out of the contraption and I replied, "With a fork."
"The way you live, my dear, is a death trap."
"Nuh-uh!" I protested. I then sliced my finger while washing a knife.
I will concede, he may have a point.
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