A brief story in which Dave is my hero.

So as I mentioned in the previous post, I called Dave in a panic about the fire in the kitchen.  And it went something like this:

Me: "Dave, the house was on fire.  But I don't think it is anymore.  It's just really smokey and I can't breathe, but I threw Yarbo out in the snow and he's fine.  I'm going back in to check on the fire."

Dave: "Kelli, Stop.  Are you ok?  

Me: "Yes."

Dave:  "Do you need to call 911?"

Me: "No, I don't think so.  I just can't breathe when I'm in the house." 

Dave: "Well get out of the house!"

Me: "I think my bread is ruined...

Dave: "I don't really think that's the main issue here."

It went on like this for awhile.  Then, to end the conversation, I said something along the lines of:

"Dave, this day is not my favorite. I had bread that was going to be awesome, but instead I set the house on fire and ruined my bread. And burned my towels. And I'm so stressed out from all this that all I want is coffee. But I can't make any, because my coffee maker is covered in the grossness and besides, we're out of cream. 

Oh, and sorry for setting the house on fire."

Then we hung up, and I kept airing the house out (it was about 50 degrees in here, I was freezing), and tried to get everything cleaned up enough to teach piano lessons.

A couple of hours later, Dave came home, and surprised me with a cup of coffee from Caribou!  And a big hug. Even though I set the house on fire by accident today.

Isn't he just the greatest?