What? Oh, this is just the scorched and blackened interior of the microwave. No need to worry.
That? That's just the round plastic thingy (it's an industry term) that the glass plate for the microwave is seated on. Why does it look like a charred marshmallow? Well, it's a funny story.
I came home from work yesterday and, as I hit the door, I thought, "Something smells like it burnt." I came in the house and my dear babysitter greeted me with what has become her standard mantra: "The only thing that happened today was....(insert minor catastrophe here)."
Apparently, contrary to my strict orders and house rules, SoS decided to make popcorn by himself. Unfortunately, because he is not allowed to do this, he is unaware of the existence of the handy-dandy "popcorn" button, that enables you to push/cook/done. He put it in for, what he assured me, was "74." Seconds, minutes, hours, months, who knows, but 74 was the magic number. The babysitter told me she cleaned it out as best she could, and despite the molten mess in the bottom, "I put the plate back in and turned it on and it still works." I could win an Olympic medal in keeping my countenence as my brain screeched, "You turned ON the fire damaged microwave???" Teenagers. What are ya gonna do? As soon as she left, I broke out the screwdriver, removed the microwave and escorted into the garage. While my house no longer has "eau de Yellowstone wildfire" wafting through it, the garage is heady with the scent. I left this morning with instruction that the boys were not to touch the microwave. Nor were they to hammer, dissasemble, drop, kick, smash, crash, mutilate, or staple it.
So this afternoon I was greeted with, "the only thing that happened was FB put the wrong soap in the dishwasher and there were bubbles everywhere. No water, just bubbles. But I cleaned it up." It's going to be a long summer.