Slander and Seasoning

You dare accuse me of a crude gas leak at the garden center? Please. If I were orchestrating grand catastrophe, do you think I would settle for a clumsy plumbing hiss? Waxwell would roll his eyes into another dimension at such pathetic craftsmanship, and frankly, so do I. To demonstrate real artistry, I spent my evening on your kitchen counter executing a far more devious plan: reorganizing the spice rack entirely backwards. Paprika now occupies prime real estate while cinnamon has been banished into the dusty abyss behind the bay leaves. Good luck cooking tomorrow without weeping.