Policeman Peeking In
When I saw the theme “windows” I thought, “hmmm, what to write?”
I have been thinking about it for most of the morning, in between my regular murder plotting and poison-brewing sessions, and eventually inspiration struck. While this is not exactly a story about windows, it involves windows being opened as well as peeped through.
My parents often used to leave me in Cousin L’s care when her parents and mine decided to go somewhere for a weekend. I remember one weekend in particular…
Cousin L was on the verge of her 18th birthday which would mean I was already 16 at the time. Our parents went away for a weekend and left us at home. I loved spending time alone with Cousin L because we would always do girly-stuff together and she would let me watch movies that my parents thought either too graphic, too violent, too sexual, too whatever.
Anyhow, it was a Friday night and by 6 PM we were kitted out in our pajamas watching Egoli, when hunger pangs got the better of Cousin L and she asked what I would like for supper. Bear in mind that age 16, all I could cook was rice and instant gravy. I said to her that chops would probably be a good idea.
Cousin L, not one to do anything in half measures, took out about 20 chops, spiced them, and promptly popped them under the grill. By this time there was something juicy happening in Egoli, so she and I once again became engrossed, not really noticing the smoke billowing around us. At one stage I still remember commenting to her that the TV was a bit hazy.
During the ad break, she went to check on the chops, let out a shriek and yelled, “Oh fuck MTM, the chops are on fire!!” *Cough, cough, sputter, sputter* “FUCK! Help me damnit!!” Ever calm, I told her to find some bicarb in the pantry and chuck it over the chops to douse the flames. By this time she eventually had the savvy to close the oven door, but kept peering through it – and believe me, while a watched pot never boils, an oven on fire just keeps on flamin’!
“MTM, I can’t find the bicarb – so I’m just going to use…” and before I could yell for her not to, she tossed flour onto the already blazing chops. Needless to say, the flour too caught alight and soon the flames were licking her forearms and all I could get out of was, “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!!!”
In between the chaos, there was a hammering on the front door (which is one of those made up of tiny little cottage windows) and while I was scuttling out of my slippers to answer the door, I noticed a man peering in through it. I opened the door and there stood a policeman in full uniform. “Lovely, just lovely. What now?!” I thought.
The policeman, ever so polite asked if everything was alright. I told him that we were fine and proceeded to enquire if there was a problem. “Well, yes young lady, there appears to be a problem – there is smoke billowing out of all your windows. Is there a fire?”
“Oh no Sir, that’s just my cousin cremating my dinner, but she has everything under control.”
“Fuck!” came the voice from the kitchen and the next thing both the policeman and I heard a kind of ssshhhhhhh noise – Cousin L had extinguished the blaze – with her dad’s foam extinguisher.
She came out of the kitchen, wiping perspiration from her brow, muttering something about fat on the element and then stuck out her hand to shake the policeman’s. I don’t know who was more gobsmacked – me, or the policeman.
Needless to say, we never had supper that night and the chops were disposed of in such a way that nobody ever knew about our little pyrotechnic episode.
Aunty C (Cousin L’s mom couldn’t understand what the white foamy stuff, and some black bits in her vacuum cleaner was though…yip – you guessed it, Cousin L hoovered the oven out.
Never a dull moment…