He's a Girl Watcher

Whenever I wear a wrap dress all Hell breaks loose.  Today was no different. 

Today there was a fire in the microwave.  

"What's burning?" my cube mate asked as the pungent smell wafted into our workspace; the security guard who had been chatting with me sprinted to the kitchenette.  My cube mate and I admired his rapid response to the situation.  I followed him into the kitchen to see if he needed help.  Sure enough the paper plate inside the microwave was scorched.  The smoke fortunately did not trigger the sprinkler system. 

"Who left the microwave unattended?" I ask.

The night watchman looks at me sheepishly as he runs the plate under cold water.

"Umm, it's my quiche."

"You're kidding me!   You're supposed to be keeping us safe,  not burning down the building," I tease.  I know full well I share culpability for the incident; the wrap distracted him.  I offer to say it's my quiche since I don't want him to get in trouble when he composes the incident report and admits that he's the guilty party.

Yes, he must tattle on himself and admit  he was too busy chatting in our cube to monitor the microwaving of his food as per kitchen rules.

Yeah, he was watching alright, but it had nothing to do with nuked quiche.