HA! This is a declaration to everyone who teased me about melting a pot. O-kay. Two pots. Well the second one wasn't actually MELTED per se. Just kind of ... scorched. The first was definitely (definAtely - Lizzie) melted though. Even I'll own up to that.
But I declare that I AM NOT ALONE!!! There are fellow well-meaning absent minded people out there who can commiserate and share the burden of purchasing new cooking tools with me. In this case, it's one of the Sisters in the flat.
We walked into our living community a few nights ago to find our flat all lit up with every window open and the door gaping wide. The smell of smoke met us long before our embarrassed looking fellow missionary did. She apologetically explained that she'd boiled potatos during lunch. And boiled them. And boiled them. And boiled them while they left for the day and for a good 9 hours until they came home again.
Hence the suspicious smell of smoke lingering on our clothes and sofa. People may begin to think we've taken up smoking. But a couple days of open windows and a lot of fabreeze later we might have cured the scent. Or maybe we're just used to it.
Welcome to the club Sister Klemm