I ran. Fast. Out of breath. Lungs bursting. Legs hitting the earth. I thudded up the path, around the corner, right up the stairs and reached the door. I flung it open and ……………..

 

…encountered that familiar smell again. Oh dear God, the watchman was right. I really had messed up this time.  It wasn’t the first time that this had happened, but it seemed to have hit a new high this time. As long as my sweet but overly alert and mildly inquisitive landlady didn’t get to know of it, I was ok.

Like many times before, the milk had been kept to boil on the stove…. and conveniently forgotten; only to cause much inconvenience after it had boiled over and spilled  all over the stove and the kitchen counter.  This time the milk-boiling-over situation had reached a new level. I was out on my evening walk when it  happened.  Absent-mindedness was at its best  thanks to the completely warped work-life balance that had caused a serious degree of mental exhaustion that compromised the short-term memory.

The spilling milk had exhausted the stove fire and a mix of leaking LPG and (nearly condensed) milk permeated the air. The smell was so strong that it  had wafted downstairs  and  reached the laid-back watchman. It stir him out of his inertia and he alerted me when I took a second round around the block and crossed the house.  Fingers crossed, I ran up the stairs. This better not be very bad, I said to myself, else you are in big trouble. It was bad. The house stank, there was milk all over. But at least it hadn’t lead to a more serious situation.

All windows were opened and fans were run on full blast to quickly rid the house of the smell. The landlady didn’t come up to inquire  and I was saved ten well-intentioned but tedious questions. After a lot of wiping and mopping all traces of the spill were gone and I headed off for my walk again- this time in the direction of the Mother Dairy.

 

NB:

  1. Marathon blogger,  I am very late on this. Please bear with me for this. And for the terribly unimaginative e story is terrible!
  2. Story inspired by daily life. The milk boiling over is  a regular feature of my life.