At the end of the story, please try as much as possible, not to laugh.
I'd returned from school that Friday afternoon, only to meet my parents preparing to go out.
Amongst the series of instructions mum dished out, and the ones dad offered as icing on the cake, I was asked to warm the soup we all would be having for dinner.
“That's the last food in the house o. Before I cook again, it'll be tomorrow, when I return from the market,” mum said.
Luckily, fufu was made already, so immediately they left, I put the soup on fire, and dashed into the parlour to see what Cartoon Network was up to.
Tom and Jerry!
I'm Tom's fan, and always wished he'd just kill that yeye Jerry of a guy, but his instantaneous stupidity kept getting in the way.
My joy knew no bounds when Tom finally caught Jerry and was about frying him with that bulldog barking his ass out.
Nonsense creatures. Tom na my guy!
I was already perceiving the sweet aroma of the sauce Tom was about ditching Jerry into, but something seemed odd.
That aroma was familiar and somewhat dry.
Just then, I noticed there was no sauce in the pan Tom put Jerry, and the aroma was more of burning food and was very familiar.
I'm very sure the speed I used dashing into the kitchen was faster than usain Bolt's times twenty.
But it was too late.
Everything was burnt, and black.
Well, my people came back three hours later, looking hungry and stuff.
Twelve year old me stepped out immediately before they got in the house, and cleared his heart.
“Mummy, daddy, I can explain.”
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