Page and I are solo this weekend. Originally we were all headed to Park City for a long weekend, but we let Dad be a bachelor this weekend and ski and hang out with his buddies (in other words I was too tired from pulling all all-nighter launching our PAIFF site to connect the travel dots…OOPS)
So Page and I were hanging out in the bath and all of a sudden this very loud voice said “EVACUATE, EVACUATE, CARBON MONOXIDE LEVELS DANGEROUSLY HIGH.” and then a bunch of other scary words. So Page and I got dressed and ran out of the house before it blew up. Not knowing what to do we asked Google, of course, and it said to call 911.
Long story, short. Three very nice firemen came and rescued us from our faulty carbon monoxide reader and Page got to sit in a fire truck. She could not stop talking about it after they left, for about an hour. We called Grandma Sam and she got an earful. Pretty funny that Page is now telling stories and that our tax payer money goes to moms with carbon monoxide that need new batteries!
