Who Burnt the Popcorn!?

A few weeks ago, I was racking my brain for a treat to take to ward prayer and since in was Sunday, I had to figure out something with the ingredients I had on hand. Luckily, I remembered that I had been in the habit a few years ago to break out my air popper (a birthday present from my awesome roommates) and mix some concoction of brown sugar and marshmallows and pour it over the popcorn, and it was sugary goodness that was extremely addicting.

In true Shelli fashion, I waited until I had about 20 minutes to begin making my popcorn mix; I traded the marshmallows for Fluff (marshmallow creme) and hoped for the best. Unfortunately, my air popper overheated or gave out on me, and I was left with only 10 minutes, and little hope. Still, I persevered. I got out my big stock pot and successfully popped the popcorn. (The mixture was not the best, but I made do and that's a different story, anyway.)

Another Sunday, another need for treats; this time it was for myself. I find myself limited with ingredients and happily turn to the idea of air popped popcorn. I knew that it worked well last time, and so this time I didn't measure or anything and just went for it.

The next thing I know, smoke is billowing out of my pot, and it smells. Bad. I inhaled too much of the smoke, which from the smell alone, I can tell is pure carcinogenicity. I begin coughing and run to put the pot outside. I open the windows and turn on the oven fan. It's a disaster! My nearly new stock pot has a layer of black scorch marks and the whole apartment smells like burnt popcorn...

...mixed with pine trees.

Because yesterday, I bought pine smell for our front room, to make it smell more Christmasy.

I can't tell you how bad the combination is. And I can't tell you how sorry I am that I didn't have a gas mask and rubber gloves to take care of the problem. Not only does my apartment smell like the death-smoke, but my hands (despite numerous washing) still wreak of the toxicity.

I resigned myself to trail mix for a snack.