On Friday, Mum cooked her glasses. No, not the early onset of senile decay, just a costly momentary aberation probably brought on by the extreme increase in noise levels in the house produced by the young Braithwaites. The constant overuse of that wonderful word, "Granny", which is always followed by a bizarre request or demand for food and or attention, may also have contributed.
Anyway, however it happened, Mum put her glasses down on top of a tin-foil wrapped chicken and popped both them and it in the oven for 2 hours. Oops.
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