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Where There’s Smoke…

It was the reek of cigarette smoke in our kitchen that threw up the red flag.  Right there at the sink.  I could smell it.

When I walked ten feet to the right, nothing.  When I leaned my head out the back door, not even a whiff.

The smoke smell seemed to have its own eight foot circle in the kitchen.  Which didn’t make sense.  We hadn’t been home for four hours.  And the closest thing we’ve got to cigarettes is our cigar-smoking neighbor next door.  But it wasn’t that.


My husband and I shrugged at each other.

It was getting late anyway.  The oven clock said 10:25 p.m.  And…

And 350 degrees.

At which time…um…I remembered the baked potatoes.


One Response to “Where There’s Smoke…”

  1. Jackie M says:

    Remember the potato salad I made for the office summer BBQ….it was made with “Batch No. 2” of baked potatoes….could be the apple doesn’t fall from the tree! Don’t fret…we’ve all been there. I especially like it when they explode all over the inside of the oven…makes for much more interesting clean-up. J.

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