This Girl Is On Fire

You know on TV shows when there's a small fire that breaks out in someone's home, and the person who inevitably is alone and discovers it tries everything to make it better and the fire just gets worse and spreads?   And you're thinking, hello idiot, why would you do that, you deserve to be on fire?  That's what tonight was like for me.  Exactly like that.  Exactly. Like. That.

And this isn't some euphemism about alcoholism.  I mean a real fire.  Like with flames and crap.

There I was, baking a healthy meal, prepping the rest of my dinner details when I thought "Well, wouldn't some candles be cozy this evening?"  Lemme just get my mail pile outta the way, okay lighting the candles...ah.  Ambiance.  Romantic evening for moi.

A short moment in the bathroom later, and the smoke alarm pings off.  *BEEP BEEP BEEP* I rush into the kitchen thinking surely my quiche has somehow spontaneously combusted.  Nope, no fire in the oven.  *BEEP BEEP BEEP* A frantic sprint to the living room discovers there, on our coffee table, a small glowing inferno of grocery store circulars (*cue "O Fortuna"*).  Now, what would your first thought be?  Pick up the fire with your bare hands to take into the kitchen sink?  Okay great, because that's exactly what I did.  Only to discover the fire was WOW, shit!  WAY bigger than I thought!  And oops, fire drops onto the hardwood floors.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

Instinctively I grab my sweater and swat at the fire in a never-works attempt at putting it out.  And I say never-works because yanno, didn't work this time either.  What I did do was swoop the fire under the couch, setting the fabric under the couch on fire.  Yup.  That happened.

So for those of you keeping score:

Fire set on coffee table - check.
Fire spread to under the couch - check.
2 dogs and 1 cat seizuring in fear on the stairs, deafened by smoke alarm - check.

I cannot tell you the absolute helplessness, fear and shock I felt at seeing my couch on fire.  The list ran through my head: We haven't had renter's insurance for months.  This is my fault.  We just bought this couch.  I'm going to get in trouble.  Will the firemen be hot?  I didn't do my makeup today.

At this stage of the fire, I am on the floor, swiping as far as I can reach under the couch to get the flaming grocery ad out from under it.  Oh, nice, a random paper bag under the couch is now also on fire.  That's helpful.

I remove said bag with disgust, almost angry at it for becoming involved in this couch campfire, and run to the kitchen to get a glass of water which in my insane state seems like the perfect solution to this situation - somehow, I'll be able to throw this glass of water under the couch at the perfect angle to put out the flames.  Fortunately I return to see that the fabric has stopped burning, sans MacGyver-ing.

Sweeping my short t-rex arm farther under the couch with the help of the remote control, I only succeed in moving the fire to the corner of our L-shaped sectional where it proceeds to continue burning.  Panicking, I reach for the fire with the remote and my fingers, simultaneously trying to pull and grab at the fire.  With my bare hands.  Whoops.

Infliction of second-degree burns, check.

Somehow, some way, the flames dispersed.  And 2-hours-soaking-in-a-bowl-of-cold-water later, I was able to feed myself with my non-dominant hand as I felt part Florence Nightingale, part Forrest Gump.

It's been quite a while since I have posted and shared what is going on with me.  How could I not start with this story?

Hope wherever you are, you're hanging in.  Burn-free.