I was cooking dinner last night - fish - and decided to bake it in the oven.  So I laid all the fish filets carefully down in a Pyrex dish with some lemon juice and spices and baked them at a normal, totally-agreeable-with-Pyrex temperature for a determined-to-be-not-too-long amount of time.

When it was done, I pulled the Pyrex pan out of the oven and was moving it over to set it on the stove when I heard a crack and then a split second later, the entire Pyrex pan exploded into thousands of pieces sending glass, lemon juice and fish parts all over the entire kitchen, leaving me standing there holding a small piece of glass with a hot pad.

I was walking when this happened so a piece of glass must have ricocheted off the floor and embedded itself in the bottom of my foot.  So here I was, standing on one foot, still clinging to what was a now a shard of glass in my hand, staring at the floor and wondering where to step and whether or not that piece of glass in the bottom of my foot had actually broken the skin and the pain just hadn't made it's way to my brain yet or if it was just stuck there because it was so hot and had melted itself to my skin. (It turned out to be the latter, and peeled off later once the lemon sticky had cooled enough, so good day for me.)

The Dormouse was just around the corner and witnessed the aftermath and once I realized I wasn't going to bleed out, I first told her to stay out of the kitchen lest she step on any of the glass (or, I suppose, the fish), then finally put the rim-of-the-pan-piece I was still inexplicably holding onto into the trash can, then went to find shoes.  After that, I busied myself with the brand new job of cleaning up the sticky chaos of lemon juice, glass and now disgustingly mashed up fish.  It was a mess, but it could have been worse.

Dinner was a shambles, obviously, so I threw some pasta in a pan for the Shortlings to eat and decided tonight just wasn't my night.  About that time I turned around to find The Dormouse standing in the doorway, looking like she was about to cry.

"What's the matter?" I asked, thinking she had been concerned for my safety while I was trying to figure out whether I'd been injured and was disturbed by the sight of the fearsome glass explosion, "Are you okay?"

"No," she said, "I'm disappointed there's no fish for dinner."

And that is why I'm telling you now, if I go missing for a long period of time, come to my house and check on me, because I'm pretty sure my family will have been stepping over my lifeless body for weeks before calling the authorities and my face may have been eaten by the cats.