Chestnuts Roasting in a Microwave

 
It was a cold winter night and the wind was howling outside. It was time for some roasted chestnuts. My mom usually buys chestnuts with the shells on, cuts them, sprinkles them with some kosher salt, and then roasts them in the oven.  When they’re done, we sit next to the fireplace and enjoy them with some hot chocolate. Recently at the supermarket, I found a package of chestnuts, all peeled and roasted, ready to eat… SCORE!

So on this cold snowy night, I took the chestnut bag from the cupboard and put it into the microwave and heated them for 25  seconds.  Five seconds later, I saw a white blinding flash come from inside the microwave.  Realizing that something went wrong—they weren't supposed to explode were they?—I opened the microwave door ready to take the bag out but I noticed the side of the bag was on fire!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

I yelled to my mom and dad and they came running to the kitchen. Mom put on an oven mitten and picked up the burning bag and put it in the sink and extinguished it with the towel. 

My dad arrived a second later and said, “it looks like you tried to microwave a metal bag. Not a good idea, unless you were trying to start a fire”.  How was I supposed to know the bag was made of metal?   It didn’t even look like metal!  After everything was over, mom told me that when she first looked at me, she saw that I had lost all of the color in my face and I looked like a ghost.

To celebrate the occasion of “trying” to set the microwave on fire, I have composed the following short poem: (sung to the tune of Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)

Chestnuts roasting in a microwave
Which is now filling up with smoke.
The bag catches fire and I try to be brave
And quickly call for help before I choke.
My folks rush into the room
They see the smoke and start to assist.
I open the door and hope to stave off doom
Dad gives mom a towel covered with water mist.
She grabs the bag and rushes to the sink
Swiftly smothers the fire without fail.
Then looks at me and tries to find the link
to answer why my face is so pale.
“She’s going to faint,” she says looking at my face She rushes me to go lie down. 
After my recovery, I get the lecture on microwave rays
No metal in the microwave, you clown.
How was I supposed to know the bag was tin
It wasn’t written on the label or side.
So here’s a warning I’ll give you with a grin
Read the fine print unless you like food smolderingly fried.