Great Balls of Fire
Ladies, it's time to do away with certain pieces of technology. Time to unplug yourselves from the wall outlet and go back to the way nature intended things to be. Time to revert back to before the time of electricity. I'm not talking bout your ipod or your blackberry, but rather your hair dryer. Unplug it from the wall. Smash it with a hammer. Hell, take it to Tennessee and see what it looks like with a .38 slug poking out the back, but for God's sake, just get rid of them. You'll thank me later.
Why the hostility towards the simplest of electronics, Kev? Why can't we have our blowdryers to make our hair straight, shiny, and silky smooth, Kev? What's wrong with a little help after the towel dry, Kev?
Because, if left unchecked, you'll burn your freakin' house down, that's why.
This has nothing to do with jealousy. As much as I might admire your long curly locks, your shiny smooth ponytail, or your perfect updo, I am merely a concerned citizen looking after your well being. For the love of God ladies, please go back to using Mother Nature's wind as a means to get your damp hair dry.
Well, what could you possibly know about fire, Kev?
Really? Have we not covered this topic before? Probably not, as I like to keep the embarrassing, potentially image damaging items out of the limelight. Let's just say that I've had my experiences with the flame and have gotten burned on a number of occasions. Just ask my wife for examples, she'll be happy to help you laugh at my expense.
But why blow dryers, Kev? What has Revlon ever done to you?
Well, as I stated earlier, they just about burned my house down.
There's got to be more than that to it, you've got to be holding back details, Kev. We think you were smoking in the bathroom and caught a basket full of toilet paper on fire and are trying to place the blame elsewhere.
Au contraire. If I was stupid enough to do that, I would fess up to it, everyone would have a few good laughs for the next 20 years or so, and I'd never be allowed to use toilet paper again. A messy predicament, I agree, but something I'd rather not dwell on, as I've already had my fair share of dealing with shit (please find and read previous post regarding the gold crown that never was).
Well then what? Did you have candles lit throughout the bathroom in an attempt to be romantic?
Again, I say pish-posh. Any woman that's ever met me would know that if I tried to pass that off as the story, that I'd be a liar. Not just a liar, but a damn liar. In my world, romance = six pack + pharmaceuticals.
Not to mention the fact that I don't think I could even fit a candle in the midget sized atrocity that is our master bathroom.
Hell, I wasn't even involved until we get to the rescue portion of the story.
But enough of me “painting the picture” for you.
Here's the story:
We were hosting a baby shower at our house. This means that we were having people over. This means that some people showed up early. This means that some people had to take showers and prepare themselves for the upcoming festivities. This meant that those people (mostly women) would need to dry their hair after they lather, rinsed, and repeated. And these people are unaccustomed to sitting in the bed of a truck going 75 mph down the interstate to dry said hair. Therefore, they would need to employ the use of one of those fancy hair drying machines. Unfortunately for me, the ceiling fan in the bedroom does not produce enough air velocity to do the job right.
I had just gotten into the house from my landscaping chore and was having a titillating conversation with my sister-in-law regarding bourbon when I heard shouts of FIRE!\\
I thought to myself, “my, what a cruel joke to play mere moments before a party was to start”. But after that millisecond, my Smokey The Bear instincts came alive and I rushed back towards the sounds panic, no thought to my own safety and well being.
Bursting through the door as if I was channeling Chuck Norris in Invasion USA, I found one woman wild-eyed, loud, and panicked, and another sitting on the floor in disbelief, curling iron still warm in her hand. Resisting the urge to round-house kick them both out of harm's way, I assessed the situation.
My eyes darted to see smoke billowing out of the bathroom. Ah Ha! I've found the problem: an array of flames the size of a croquet ball was sputtering out the backside of the blow dryer, which just happened to still be plugged into the wall.
My daring super hero of a wife, not intimidated by mere flames (as evidenced in other stories) moved with gazelle like grace and speed to unplug the menacing device from the wall outlet. But that was it. That in and of itself did not cease the rapidly growing fireworks display. Remembering that I had the forethought to purchase fire extinguishers for just such an emergency, I pushed past my wife and into the fray I went, throwing towels, rugs, hair care products, and other things I can't seem to remember out of my way as I reached into the super secret hiding spot of the extinguisher, the linen closet.
Bravely, I pulled the pin and let loose with a spray of containment that doused the burning dryer from Hell.
Effectively covering the entire bathroom in whatever chemical they put in those things. And due to the fact that the bathroom fan was running, and the ceiling fan in the bedroom was running, and the spray and fumes had nowhere else to go, half the damn bedroom got covered in the very same chemicals.
No time to clean up as guests had already started arriving for the party. The master bedroom and bath were totally off limits. It's a good thing we had two other functioning bathrooms.
So I plead with you, nay, beg of you.......do away with the demonic devices that dry out your locks and go back to toweling off and hoping for the best.