Awhile ago, I decided to make myself a smoothie. I had a bad feeling about it. In fact, since the arrival of the blender three weeks ago I’ve had this bizarre and utterly inexplicable impression that I shouldn’t be using it, which is why I hadn’t used it yet. But there it was: I wanted a smoothie and my husband, who normally makes the smoothies, was sleeping.

I took the top off the blender and began adding my ingredients. I added yogurt, orange juice, a pear, an apple, a carrot, a mandarin, and three exceptionally large pieces of ice. Then, because I was feeling inspired I also added some ginger and three leaves of spinach.

Feeling good about this combination I closed the blender and pressed the pulse button. The blender made an ominous sound and shook violently. For some reason I continued to press the button, sure that it was just struggling with the elephantine ice cubs. I did not investigate further and a second later I was punished for my laziness. There was a cracking-popping sound and then there was juice and glass everywhere, all over the counter and for some reason (perhaps because I am not actually good at mixing smoothie ingredients) it smelled like baby vomit.

I got into work late and over coffee was informed by my coworker that the pants I thought I had left at her house were not there. I don’t normally get attached to things but I liked those pants. They were both new and expensive and pants had never struck me as an easy item to lose, without a trace.

After a long day I got home and, because I didn’t feel like cooking, threw a frozen pizza in the oven. I took it out, placing the tray I had cooked it on on the black glass stove top. Later, when I returned to clean up I tried to pick the tray up only to find that it was stuck to the stove top.

I tugged. I pulled. Finally, it budged and there was a strange, unpleasant sucking-cracking sound.

Beneath the metal tray was what remained of a small, thin black plastic cutting board. The heat from the tray had melted it and that was what had been acting as an adherent. Without really thinking it through I took the tray and put it back in the oven to get it out of the way.

The plastic came off with minimal damage to the glass stove top. I just had to stand there scraping at it delicately with a knife for awhile.

While I was doing that I began to feel slightly light headed. I smelled something acrid, chemical. Something… plastic. The oven was still quite warm. The plastic, stuck to the tray had begun to melt again.

For a moment I stood there transfixed by own absentmindedness, wondering how it was I had managed to go so far in my life without causing some kind of more catastrophic accident. I imagined the rest of the world gliding along blissfully, through their days without destroying blenders, losing pants and poisoning themselves with toxic plastic fumes.

Then, I sighed, turned on the stove top fan, opened the stove and set about cleaning that too.