The front door is open, and the smoke is clearing out fairly well at this point.
I’m thankful that my daughter wasn’t hurt, but I’m minus the high-res monitor that we use on the file server in the living room–oh brother, this thing is seriously toasted!
My oldest daughter tripped and the orange juice she was carrying (according to Murphy’s immutable Law) found its way into the high voltage section of the monitor…don’t need to look…don’t want to look.
:::banging head on desk:::
My first reaction was to dash towards my daughter and make sure that she wasn’t hurt, and to make sure that she didn’t get zapped. She and I both looked at the fireworks (ok, there wasn’t really anything spectacular about it except a few small snapping sounds and loads of smoke) and then at each other–I could see the tears welling up in her eyes.
I comforted her, and assured her that it’s ok…that it was just an accident and that I’m simply glad that she’s ok–which, of course, I am.
The monitor is unplugged, the breaker is reset, the mess is cleaned up and she’s watching TV–she thinks that I don’t notice the sideways glances from time to time. Now I’m thinking about dollar signs–but I really can’t let on about that.
Time to go give her another hug.
Common ¢ for all ages…
“Well, there was that thing with the Cheese-Wiz…but I’m feeling much better now!” – John Astin, Night Court