Don't Try This At Home

Two days ago, I set myself on fire.

I wasn't certain if it was newsworthy, so I didn't blog about it... but today, I have nothing much to say so decided it was a good enough story.

We have a woodstove that we use to heat our house for most of the winter. I love it. Though it's very labor intensive (especially in the years that we cut and split -- by hand -- our own wood), but it keeps the house in the 70's a luxury we couldn't afford if all we used was oil.

So, the other morning the flames were huge (we won't go into the fact that I'd forgotten and left the top open -- short term memory is the first thing to go.) What was I writing about? Oh yeah. Fire.

When I threw a log in, it also sparked as it is wont to do. Normally, this is not a problem. That day, it was. Evidentally, my sweater was treated with something flammable, because my entire arm burst into flame POOF!!

Thankfully, I am calm in emergencies, and I patted it out quickly, no harm, no foul. I started up the stairs to finish getting ready when I burst into flames again -- this time it was the same arm and entire front of my sweater POOF!!!

Still moderately calm (my mother says she's shocked I didn't scream, but hey -- I didn't want to scare my daughter), I ran for the bathroom, patting my body like crazy and jumped, fully clothed, into the shower. When the water wasn't putting it all the way out, I dragged the sweater over my head, threw it on the shower floor and stomped on it.

Mission accomplished.

Dripping wet, dressed in jeans and a bra, and finally shaking like a leaf, I went to my mom's place over our garage and let her know that I wouldn't be ready on time.

She understood.

And now I'm trying to figure out a way to use this in a story. "The Day I Set Myself On Fire".

Wish me luck.

The editors will probably tell me that the story is impossible, like the one I wrote loosely based on how my hubby and I met.

Yeah. Could never happen.