Where there’s smoke, there’s Marty…
Marty has discovered how to cook chicken in such a way that gouts of flame emit from the edges of the pan. He has for the first time ever set off two smoke alarms at once, located in different rooms at the other end of the apartment. After mollifying said smoke alarms and starting all the ceiling fans, I found him hooting with glee over the stove, doing it again and again. Fwoosh, zip, fwoosh.
Someone save me, oh god, oh god.