Blossoming Pyromaniac....

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

I am an accidental pyromaniac.

Over the years I’ve had a few things happen due to neglect husband says. I say due to overlooking what I’d forgotten I was doing.

He says that’s the same as neglect.

Whatever.

He doesn’t like ‘whatever’--I say it’s almost admitting neglect.

When the kids were young and I was a stay-at-home mom (translates to dabbling to near insanity on given days) we owned a house that had a long hallway leading to three bedrooms and the kitchen and den on the other.

I had a gas stove because it’s hard to burn things--just turn off and voila....heat is gone. Electric stoves don’t do that and I have a penchant for overcooking.

The telephone was on the wall close to the kitchen with a cord long enough to walk down the hall to check on the urchins and also cook and talk and talk and cook. You get the picture.

Husband came home while I’m walking around the kitchen talking to a friend about nothing much because nothing much is what stay-at-home moms often feel they have to discuss.

He walked through to the den and hung his cap on a hat peg. I’m still talking about nothing much when I realize he’s watching with a devious smile.

“What?” I demanded as I turned to stir ‘whatever’ on the stovetop.

“Hot conversation?”

In defensive huffiness I assured with clipped, whispered tones I was not gossiping.

Calmly, he grabbed the paper, “Just wondered, the phone cord is on fire.”

I looked and the cord was in flames! I’d drug it across the gas stove I so loved because it was hard to burn or overcook.

“Oh my gosh....I have to go....it’s on fire!” I started flapping the cord. “No, not the house, the phone thingy...talk to you later!”

When I bathed the cord in the sink and stopped my little fire I went and stood in front of husband with hands on hip whining “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, I could have burned the house!”

Again, very calmly (I hate that!) he looked over the top of the paper and said he would’ve stopped it if he thought the house or family was in danger.

From experience I knew the “moral of the story” was coming.

“Besides, I figured you’d remember better this way.”

He began to read again smugly knowing he’s right.

Whatever.