Last night as I preheated the oven for dinner, Phil remarked, "What's that smell?" I said, "Nothing. I"m only preheating--nothing's in there." A few minutes later he says, "Something's definitely burning." He opened the oven and found this:
It used to be a plastic plate. Henry's really into cooking of late. I didn't even know he could open the oven door. But I guess the proof is in the pudding. Or plate.
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