...or it would be dreadfully tedious like The Real World: London. "This week, Jacinda buys a puppy. She names him "Legend". He pee-pee'd in their flat" [a bored-to-tears thirteen-year-old Samantha turns to ten-year-old Jarred and says "Please stab me."]
Ok, so when you read this, just imagine all 6-foot-2-inches of Steve bouncing around the kitchen all wound up like Tigger, and I am completely calm and expressionless and never bother to look up from what I'm doing.
Steve: We have a spray bottle?
Steve: --For water?!
Steve: We have a spray bottle for water?!
[I reach into the cabinet under the sink for the spray bottle, and pass it over the counter to Steve, who cradles the spray bottle in hands like it's a gold chalice]
Me: To mist my house plants.
Steve: Really? [we both glance at the house plant in question]
Regular misting is what makes it so...crispy. Oh, and while you're here, can somebody call "Time of Death" on this ivy? I can't do it. I'm not a doctor, I'm just an intern.
Steve runs back to the grill. I hear the sounds of vigorous spritzing, and then the air surrounding Steve turns steamy/smoky. So yeah, I think he was extinguishing a small fire. I guess that explains the urgency.