It has been said that nearly all domestic accidents happen around the home. Accidents have varying degrees of importance. Some can do bodily harm while others can produce mental anguish. In my case, there are also those accidents that can cause large amounts of ridicule from my family. Today I had one of those accidents. This afternoon, after a full day of working on the honey-do list, I was tired and thirsty. As is usually the case, I went to the refrigerator to get a pop only to find that all of the cold ones were gone. There was a whole case of warm pop, but who really wants that. So instead of waiting for one to cool down, or heaven forbid add ice to the pop I did what every other guy does. I put a can in the freezer. I had all intention of going back to retrieve it, I just got busy. So I am sitting in the kitchen contemplating how Mike Morgan could possibly still be pitching at his age when I heard a loud POP coming from the freezer. I quietly move to the fridge and carefully open the freezer door. I am not sure what I expected. I have never had aliens attack my frozen food so I doubt that is why I was so tentative in opening the door. When I did open it, there sat my can of pop, the top of it perfectly blown out. It looked very similar to the pictures I have seen of Mount St. Helens just after it erupted. I quickly tried to clean up the mess before my wife and kids could see but the root beer ooze was everywhere. The kids laughed their heads off at my predicament. Trina was in a much less jovial mood. Instead, she retrieved the “honey-do” list from my pocket and begin to fill it up again. It really wasn’t my fault. I think the can was defective. I think I will write to A and W to complain about their quality control.

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