Afeared of Fire

I love a roaring fire in the fireplace or a bonfire at a weinie roast. But other than that, I have an obsessive fear of fire. Twice I have had my hair singed. Once was at an REO concert and the person behind me got a little carried away waving her lighter. The other time a friend had a lit candle on the back of her toilet and my big hair got in the way.

When the Belle and the Captain lived with us, my firewoman patrol was on active duty, 24/7. More than once:

I found evidence of the Belle smoking in bed.
I found burning candles in the bedroom and/or bath after they left the house.
She caught both ovens on fire.
She left the house with the gas stove top blazing.
She caught bacon wrappers, paper towels and various other counter items on fire.

I considered strapping a fire extinguisher to my person, along with my glasses, cell phone, pens, etc. Instead I became a maniac about checking the batteries in the smoke detectors and checking each room on a regular basis.

The oldies are gone but my fear lingers. Now that I live with my oldies, I'm on needless patrol but it doesn't stop me. If anyone starts roasting chestnuts on an open fire during this season, I'm running in the opposite direction.

Don't Run Over the Dog

It's dark in the morning when the husband leaves for work. When the oldies were driving, I didn't necessarily trust her vision or navigation skills. (Turns out I was right since she drove through my front yard, plowed into the mailbox and left Hangdog to roam the streets in the middle of the night.) It's dark when the husband comes home.

Have I mentioned we own a black Lab? Have I mentioned that she's not the sharpest crayon in the box? I am also not operating on full throttle. So, I often forget that she's outside until she shows up at my office window doing the "Let me in" moan.

I've started to call the husband and announce, "The dog is outside. Please don't run over her."