Holy crap, my husband (who has recently taken up building electronics, playing with car-startable batteries, circuitboards, heating wire and soldering in his spare time) just blew up the house. I heard a telltale crack and a pop, which can only be one thing. Electronics blowing up. And there, in our old guest bedroom turned workshop, is a huge cloud of smoke. Oy Vey.
Mind you, this was only minutes after I walk in and my heat gun (for encaustics) is sitting on the wood floor, RUNNING, while he works on something else. Oh, is that on? he says casually. His music was up to high for him to hear it.
Why me? Could he not take up knitting, or something? Its hip, isn’t it?
He is fine, FYI. And back at it.
I am looking for a fan.
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You’ve got to worry when your husband gets his hands on your tools! Luckily, I don’t have anything in my stash that can set the house on fire. Sounds like fun at your house. I hope you get some rest, and your body kicks the bugs out; there is NOTHING worse than being sick when you have sleepless nights.
Hey if it doesn’t explode its not cool!