Burning water

	Burning water
Some People's Parents	Prev \| TOC \| Next

When the sun hits your tent in the morning, it's time to do something: open a flap to let some cool air in, go back to sleep despite the heat, or last resort, get up. It was only 10am, but I got up anyway. Someone has to be first up, after all.

When I stumbled out of the tent, I saw the two kids waiting for me. Figures. There I was, up at the crack of dawn, and the kids are waiting for me.

"Have you two had breakfast yet?"

My son minced no words. "I was too hungry to wait for you. We had cereal and toast to start."

"Daddy?" My little daughter was just as direct, even if she sounded cuter and more polite. "Can you boil some eggs for us?"

"Sure, honey."

From the depths of sleep in the overheated tent, my wife heard that.

"Can I have two boiled eggs, too, please?"

My other son chimed in from the other tent. "Me, too!"

I sighed. "Right. 6 eggs in the first batch, for the kids, OK? Then another batch of 6, two each for you and me, dear, and the kids can fight over the last two of them."

I lit the camp stove, pumped up the pressure, and grabbed the pot. "Where's the water bottle?"

A muffled voice sounded surprisingly awake from inside the tent. "There's a water bottle in here. Here you go." And she handed it out.

The two liter jug was over half full. I poured about half of it on the eggs, put the lid on, and turned the heat up.

A couple of minutes later, my daughter smiled up at me. "I'm thirsty, Daddy."

"There's some water right there."

"Thanks, Daddy."

I checked the stove. It was OK. The water was starting to bubble already.

"Blah! Daddy! This water tastes bad!"

"I guess it's from the tap here at the campground. Try pouring it through the Brita filter."

"All right, Daddy."

"Here, I'll help you." Big brother was being helpful today. That probably meant he was thirsty, too.

It was about this point that I noticed the flames coming out of the pot: pretty blue flames all around the lid.

"Honey?"

"Yes, dear?"

"The pot's on fire."

My son jumped in. "What? Dad! Turn off the stove!"

"Yes!" came the suspiciously wide awake voice from the tent.

I turned off the stove, but the pretty blue flames kept burning.

"The pot's still on fire."

"Well, there must be something really wrong with the stove!" My wife sounded frantically wide awake now. "Move the pot away from the stove!"

I moved the pot to a nearby rock and made sure the stove was completely off. "The pot's six feet from the stove, and still burning. Neat. I wonder why?"

"Daddy?" My little daughter sounded petulant as she thrust a glass at me. "The water tastes even worser now, even after we put it through the Brita filter. I don't like it. You taste it."

I tasted the water. Booze. Correction: less than half booze, cut with clear water. Actually, the Brita filter would have taken any flavour out, so it might have been pop, and my wife was drinking gin and ginger last night.

"Is this the same water I put in the pot?"

"Yes, Daddy. When you set the bottle down, I took it and poured a glass for me. Don't you remember?"

"It's OK." I announced loudly. "There's nothing wrong with the stove. The fire in the pot will go out when the water cools off, or all the alcohol evaporates, whichever comes first."

My wife tells this story, with great gusto, every chance she gets. You'd think she'd get ribbed for handing me gin and pop instead of water, but no, I get ribbed, because I was the one who was 'burning water'.

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