#Chapter233
/"Stop being so melodramatic, it’s just one Tv dinner… you’re such a food snob. I can handle a plastic tray of food for one meal./" I roll my eyes and watch the toaster for something to do, listening to him heavy breathing through an obvious panic attack.
/"You did take it out of the plastic, right? Checked it wasn’t a microwave meal, instead of an oven meal, though, right?/" He sounds strained, rambling like a weirdo. I can tell his nerves are probably a little frayed right now. Arry has a womanly love for his kitchen and all his gadgets in here. He’s a bit of a freak about his space. He’s probably imagining an Armageddon-like scene of chaos and my managing to break his precious oven.
I eye up the obviously melting tray in the oven and grimace, murmuring a cuss word under my breath and turn it off in a bid to limit the damage as I spy black sauce dripping down the shelf onto the next level.
Shit
