When I got home tonight, the apartment smelled like gas. Now, sometimes I think I smell gas and I get all psyched out before finally convincing myself that I'm being melodramatic and should knock it off, but this, my friends, was an actual gas leak. I knew it, down to my toes.
Mitch hadn't noticed, because he'd been in the apartment all day (ah, winter break), so we both prowled around the apartment sniffling away before finally determining the back left burner on our gas stove to be the culprit.
To make a long story short, a potentially eventful evening proved rather uneventful (thankfully) as a nice man from the gas company dropped by, relit the pilot light that had gone out and assured us that all was, in fact, well and that we would not be exploding or dropping off peacefully in our sleep any time in the foreseeable future.
Or at least not because of the back left burner of our stove.
In other, less morbid news, I finally bough my own copy of the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack. Why? Because the one I'd copied illegally onto Mitch's computer was lost when the hard drive crashed last night.
So far it's been a rough week.