I'm not a pyromaniac or anything. I'm only the kind of crazy that makes me fun to get drunk and commit minor misdemeanors, not felonies. It just seems that I get all kinds of crazy fire-related shit all up in here.
For example, when I was in college one of my roommates caught the burner of our stove on fire with some grease. Luckily for her, I enjoy baking and had some baking soda available (none of my other roommates did) and knew enough to toss it on the flames. I then proceeded to leave to go to church, where the sermon was about, you guessed it. Fire. Though thinking back on this, the fact that I was in a church and it did not catch fire is kinda miraculous in and of itself...I was really only there for the extra credit for a religion class I was taking to be completely honest here.
Fast forward a few years in college. We had this big old dead tree in our front yard that it took the college forever to cut down because single mothers trying to get out of poverty and their children aren't a priority, so who cares if gale-force winds come in and send it crashing through the roof, amirite? I look out the window and see that at the base of this tree, there is a little fire going. I go out there with a cup of water and douse the flames. Or so I thought. I then go to a family party for something or another (possibly Christmas? a winter birthday? It was during winter break, so your guess is as good as mine). I explained why I was late and we laughed at the whole "burning bush" thing and joked about looking out for locusts. I come home and I am telling my roommates about this when I look out the window and the fucking tree is back on fire. For some reason, I opt to call for security vs. 911. They tell me to put it out myself. So that is how, on a cold winter night, I am out in the front yard of the house I lived in with a fire extinguisher trying to get the fire out. It just kept re-kindling. Eventually a security guard came to check it out. Like a half an hour later. They realize that I have just about emptied the extinguisher, so they decide that perhaps this is NOT something a single person equipped with chemicals can handle so they call the fire department. It then takes the firemen another half an hour and sticking the hose into the center of the tree for the damn thing to finally quit.
I then meet my husband. He's quite the lovely man and proposes and we live happily ever after and shit. But, he failed to mention during our courtship that he routinely sets himself on fire at work. (He's a welder.) And he always is so nonchalant about it when he tells me, like "Oh hey, Aaron got a new derby car, and they fired that idiot they hired last week; oh, and I caught myself on fire. And do you think you can get me some more nasal spray for my tool box?" Like it's no big fucking deal that a steaming hot piece of weld landed on your shirt and it went up in flames. I'm pretty sure he doesn't tell me about most of the times he does this because, well, he's married to a crazy woman.
Another time fire and I crossed paths, it was not quite so direct-like. We were going to Connecticut, I think for my nephew's birthday, and a storm hit back at home. Now my brother in law was planning on coming with us but at the last minute changed his mind. Good fucking thing he did, because a goddamned storm came roaring through and lightening hit their house and caught it on fire. Luckily the damage was limited to mostly cosmetic outside shit...but cheese and tap dancing rice, WTF?
Which brings me to the event that precipitated this post. A few days ago, my husband was going to cook some ham on the grill. He went out to pre-heat it, and then came back into the house to get the meat. (Snickering cause I'm secretly a 12 year old boy.) As he is prepping it, I happen to look out the window and I see flames. A lot of flames. Like a little mini hell burning in our back yard. It scorched the siding and broke the window on the mudroom because it was cold outside. That's how we do winter in Ohio, bitchez. We grill even when frostbite is imminent. Hell, most winter nights my husband can be found outside with the dogs in front of a fire, hiding from me. I don't blame him. I'd totally hide from me too.
Apparently I'm being retaliated against for the church not burning all those years ago...
I am almost wondering anymore if I have mystical fire starting powers I was previously unaware of or something. Like a dragon, but of course I am way cooler. And not as scaly. I swear to God though, our backyard has flooded on more than one occasion and now the grill caught on fire. There better not be any fucking locusts or Imma have to bring my new found dragon powers out on their asses.