A couple of months ago a nice young bachelor that I'm acquainted with bought his first home.  He was extremely excited about  having his own house and moving out of his parents home.  One particular day in his new home stands out for both him and I.   Prelude:  The bachelor knew eating every meal out would put a crunch on his budget and decided to cook for himself more often to save money.   Here is how his first morning preparing breakfast went:

Mr. Bachelor is using an electric stove for the first time.  The burner wobbled
so he adjusted it (after turning it on). 

Mr. Bachelor:  "Why don't they have a warning on those that they get
hot before they turn red?"

Mr. Bachelor recieves burns on the tips of his fingers
for his fine effort at saving the wobbling burner (and
saving money by frying his own bacon!)  I believe I forgot
to mention that Mr. Bachelor is a musician and had a performance
later that day.  Yes, he had to use his burned fingers, and yes it was
extremely uncomfortable.

The story isn't over yet....

Mr. Bachelor remembers that "My momma
taught me never to pour bacon grease
down the sink, so I used a red plastic
cup instead to pour it in to...but before I did that
I set the cup inside the drain of this ---->   
 

(Mr. Bachelor wanted to avoid any more wobbling!)

In the words of Mr Bachelor:  "Who would have thought that red plastic could melt so quickly!!!"

Mr Bachelor spent the next hour cleaning melted red plastic out of his sink drain.

The saga continues....

For the first time since moving in to his new home Mr. Bachelor finally had a full dishwasher and
decided to use it (thus sparing his burned fingers from washing dishes by hand.)

He turned the dishwasher on before he left for work (carrying his saxophone with his burned fingers) and came home to this several hours later: 

Yes, Mr. Bachelor used liquid dish soap, not dishwasher detergent.

Once again, in the words of Mr. Bachelor : "Where was the warning label?"

Me ::head shake::  "You wouldn't have read it anyway."

While I am embarrassing Mr. Bachelor thoroughly, I may as well go all out.  Here is a photo of Mr. Bachelor in happier days when all was right in his world and the hardest thing he had to do was learn how to ride his bike:

 (Notice the fist pump!)

I am allowed to tease him in this way, it is one of the ongoing privileges of
being his mother.