Come on Baby Light My Fire

Men. Ya gotta love 'em right? Even when they do some of the most hair brained things. Not only do they attempt to DO these things, they then get together and brag to each other about the latest and greatest accomplishments they have done with no earthly idea how the really smart ones, we women, are viewing them.



Case in point. Starting a fire. Oh not just any fire, but one that is in the house, in the fireplace. Or that is at least where it should be. Let me take you back to a cool night of November. We have cooked and eaten the wonderful Thanksgiving feast that I have lovingly slaved over all day. All in about 30 minutes after sitting down, I must add. I am in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. My husband decides that he is going to start a fire. Ok. I know what you are thinking. "What could possibly be wrong with that?". Oh friends !!!! A fire starter he is not. It just doesn't seem to come naturally to him. Some people know exactly how to bunch the paper up nice and tight so that you have good kindling. I don't think marrying a Eagle Scout is a necessity, but where fires are concerned, let's just say being prepared would come in handy.


After several attempts to get the kindling to catch, my husband got a wee bit frustrated. What do husbands do in a case like this? They holler for their wives to come and give them a hand of course. Well, I only made it to Brownies in my scouting life, so my fire starting experience is limited. As a matter of fact, I normally use those logs that just kind of light magically by themselves. Rolling up newspaper is just so dad gummed messy too. Black ink all over your hands.....well that's a different story.



Anyway, after a few lights, relights and words that a lady won't mention, he gives up. I offer to go to the store and buy a "log" but with a gleam in his eye, he says that won't be necessary. He knows exactly how to get it started. On goes the coat, and out to the garage he goes. He returns in a few minutes and begins the process all over again of scrunching up newspaper. Full of new confidence that my wonderful husband will soon have a toasty fire going I wander back to the kitchen to resume my task. In my mind I am thinking how nice it will be to sit down by the fire with our feet on the coffee table relaxing and just having a nice quite evening when "WHOOOOOSH!!!!"



Out of the corner of my eye I see something go shooting into the dining room. I grab the kitchen towel (it's never a good idea to drip water on the clean floor, just ask Martha) and make a dash for the dining room. There on the floor is a singed and smelly version of my husband, smoke still floating around him. He is daintily wiping his now almost gone eyebrows with a sheepish look on his face. His sweater, the new one I had just gotten him, is the most awful pukey brown color. Honest to goodness, I just stood there. I didn't even know what to say. I really didn't even know how he got over there. And then it hit me. I slowly turned and looked towards the fireplace. A huge roaring fire was crackling away. "Pretty cool huh?" is all he said.



You see, lighting the fire the old fashioned way was just taking too long. So? Why not speed things up a bit. And what better way to get a fire going than to use the white gas that you have stored in the garage for all of those family camping trips? Duh! Why didn't I think of that??? I'll tell you why. Because SANE people don't use white gas to start a fire in a fireplace that's why !!! It seems that in his rush to get the fire started, he got a heavy handed with the gas. It kept putting the matches out. Sooooooo, when he finally got it to light, the gas fumes formed a ball of flame and shot him across the room, thus making that whooshing sound.



Fast forward to Sunday morning at church. Everyone meeting and greeting each other. Talking about the holiday weekend, football, big turkey dinners. The normal stuff. Then I noticed all the menfolk gathered around my husband listening to him like he was offering up some well meaning advise. All of a sudden, they all start high fiving him and patting him on the back, shaking their heads and making that grunting sound that made television history. He has retold them the story of the white gas!!!! And he is now their hero. They marvel at him. The do a little victory dance in the parking lot. They gather him into their fold. He is now one of them.


Men. Ya gotta love 'em right?