Screech, screech, SCREECH - the incessant wail of the smoke alarm made sure it woke up the rest of the slumbering household, probably the rest of the street. I'm running upstairs and down, opening windows and waving a tea-towel under the alarm to try to clear the smoke as adeptly as the giggles will allow. I'm too short to reach the alarm to take the batteries out, but it clears. And my stomach muscles and mouth still ache from chortling to myself.
I'd made an egg and bacon sandwich for my daughter's breakfast. I hadn't even burnt it! Humour. That's not something I've always felt. I remember if somebody would even glance at me a certain way I would dissolve into tears. I would react to things rather than giggle. A few years ago I would have gone into a depression and felt that the whole world was against me and I would hold onto that one incident as proof. Not any more :)
Giggles. Another by-product of doing the food maybe?
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