We're NOT having Chicken Soup Tonight

It happened this way.  The missionaries came over for dinner last evening.  I put a chicken in the oven and it was perfection.  After dinner Bill left with the missionaries to visit some ward members.  I cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen.  "We'll have chicken soup tomorrow and I won't have to spend time with dinner."  I put the boney remains of our feast in the large, shinny, copper bottomed cooking pot, filled it with water, set it on the stove, and turned the burner on.  I patted myself on the back for a job well done and retired to the computer to do a little farming.

About an hour later I left the computer and entered a smoke-filled familyroom.  "What's going on," I thought.  The kitchen was like "a foggy day in London Town". 

I turned the burner off and grabbed the oven mittens.  My "soup" was taken out the back door and set in the driveway.  I wondered what signals the smoke would send.  Running back in the house I opened every window, turned off the heat, turned on the fans and wondered why the smoke detectors hadn't sounded.  Bill just replaced the batteries about a week ago.

It took about an hour for the smoke to clear.  I had to go outside a couple of times because I was caughing so bad.  Bill finally came home and said, "It looks like you're cooking like Bill."  We laughed. 

Today I'm scrubbing the pot.  I'll be scrubbing the pot for at least a week.  Needless to say, "We're not having chicken soup for dinner."