Susan was familiar with the defeated expression that often dominated the face of her husband, Owen, after an evening tinkering in the basement.
An electrician by trade, Owen was undeniably a hack inventor. His failures were frequent.
This particular evening was different. Owen bounded up the basement stairs, burst through the door, and jammed one of the kitchen chairs under the knob.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked as she tucked leftovers into an open spot in the refrigerator.
“Get to the truck!”
“I may have just successfully built a time machine,” Owen stammered.
“Is that the leftover stroganoff?” Owen replied with a question of his own.
“Give it here! I’m throwing it downstairs. That may buy us sometime.”