The infamous kitchen explosion

I wrote this about 2 weeks ago but wasn't sure whether or not to post it on here. No doubt it will become one of those stories I'll tell strangers when I'm a little old lady waiting at a bus stop.

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What a horrid week it’s been. It all began last Tuesday when the door bell sounded. We get visitors pretty much constantly - usually it’s the delivery man with packages meant for other people or curious neighbours wanting to meet the new white people in their building. Other times it’s our landlord Mr Pai dropping off food or things for the house. Everyone has been very welcoming but it all gets a bit too much. Sometimes I pretend I’m not at home but it’s like Indians have some kind of 6th sense and they know I’m in here so they keep buzzing and buzzing until I give in. So I mess up my hair and pretend I’d been asleep and hadn't heard the bell.
Anyway, this time it was a man who had come to change our gas cylinder. He came, did his thing then left. I'd had no idea that the cylinder was even close to being empty, but service men seem to show up every few days to fix something or other. I insist that Josiah keep a close eye on them, in case they decide to help lighten our wallets as an extra complimentary service. 

About half an hour after he left I began to smell gas (no, not the kind that comes out my bottom at the most unfortunate times!). I told Josiah and he went to the kitchen to investigate. What happened next has become the basis of all my nightmares since. I heard a loud PHOOMPH and a giant ball of fire flooded the kitchen and spilled into the hallway.

I heard Josiah screaming and I saw him hitting the wall of the hallway as he ran out of the kitchen. He stumbled towards me, holding out his arms which were cherry red and shiny. There were areas where it seemed like the skin had started melting off. He looked at me with a horrifying mix of intense pain and shock and he was yelling something incoherent. I probably said the f word more times in those next 5 minutes than I have in my entire life. I literally couldn't stop screaming it. I got Josiah into the shower and cut his singed clothes off and then began crying. I could still smell gas so I figured the cylinder was still leaking and any minute there would be another explosion. Except this time it would be so big I was sure the whole building would collapse and we’d all die. I kept asking my landlord’s wife how to turn it off but she would only nod at me. It was infuriating! It seemed like no one understood the severity of the situation. I was certain we were all just about to die and no one seemed to care! It was bizarre. In my state of panic I kept thinking 'I hope someone tells mum and dad that we’re dead because I'd hate it if they thought I was ignoring their emails'.
As it turned out, our building didn’t explode and no body died. A nice little crowd gathered around to see Josiah who was now only wearing a little pair of black underpants. There was a guilty moment when I thanked God it wasn't me because I was wearing my oldest, most see-through, granny undies. Forget the burns, I honestly think I would have died from embarrassment.
A little while later I heard sirens and the 'fire brigade' arrived. They were wearing the full old-fashioned fireman's outfit - the kind you'd see in a Charlie Chaplin movie (see picture below). They were nothing like those firemen from the calenders that we’ve all come to expect. It was very disappointing!

This is what I got

This is what I was expecting

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And that's as far as I got in my post. I must have been distracted by the photos. Can you blame me? Those men on the left with their big moustaches, phoaw! Hot stuff.

On a more serious note, here are some pictures of Josiah through his recovery: 

It's insane how swollen his face got

This is when we started to freak out about possible scarring on his lips and nose

Finally able to go out on a date night - only $3 each for a huge, "I'm so stuffed, you'll have to roll me out the door" dinner