Hot. Hot. Hot.

“…Hey, hey, hey, well I like it when the lighting comes, hey, hey, hey, well I like it a lot. Hey, hey, hey, yes I’m jumping like a jumping jack, I’m dancing, screaming, itching, squealing, fevered, feeling, hot, hot, hot….” The Cure

Natalie was having a bite to eat with her son at a local establishment close to her home when her cellular phone started ringing. Nothing too terribly spectacular about that event, you say? The Caller ID showed it was her alarm company calling; alerting her of a problem. Getting up from her seat, she jumped into her car and pedal-to-the-metal her way home. She called me in the interim; high anxiety pleaded with me, “Please meet me at my house. I think someone might be trying to break in!” I was relaxed on my couch; busy typing prose, wearing a comfortable tee-shirt and yoga pants; you get the picture, right? I put on some practical flip-flops (it was 40 degrees outside) and I quickly did the flip-flop-trot over to her house; she lives right up the street.

As I was approaching her house, I could see Natalie as she opened the side door to her house – FLAMES leapt out from the doorway! I did the appropriate 180 degree turn and ran as fast as I could back to my house. Was I a yellow-bellyed coward, trying to escape a potential disaster? Hell no! For some good reason, my mind was working over-time (this doesn’t always happen) and I thought about the fire extinguisher fastened to the wall at the top of my basement stairs. It sat there quietly; patiently waiting to be used, wanting to be needed. Clumsily, I flip-flopped back over to her house; fire extinguisher in hand; thick billows of black smoke poured from her side door; the entrance into the kitchen and the fire. I could see the outline of Natalie through the smoke as she stood inside her kitchen. My mind raced; words gushed from my lips, like the flames and black smoke surrounding her, “Smoke inhalation! Smoke inhalation! Not good. Bad idea. Please get out of there!” She and the broom handle were poking and prodding a burning, charred cardboard box; Ahhh, yes! The culprit; exposed at last! The cardboard box you see had been sitting too close to the stove; sparks flew, the box ignited in passion; setting the whole fucking kitchen on fire! “Ooops!” The stove said, cavalierly; offering a wink.

Hot sex in the kitchen.

In the end, Natalie and the fire extinguisher saved the day. No one was hurt (except the burning cardboard box) and the fire was extinguished. We called 911; thought it was the right thing to do (duh!) and within minutes, 20 firemen were lined up at her door. My mind raced, “Hmm...this is a new and interesting Friday night date tactic!”