and me in my house dress.

Picture this: A hazy apartment living room. A fire burning in the fireplace, with smoke coming out into the room. A girl in a loose-fitting navy cotton dress stands on a futon, frantically waving a lap desk up and down at a very effective and loud smoke alarm. Once she gets the alarm to stop blaring, she runs to the front door and props it open with a shoe, only to run back to the futon and the lap desk once the smoke alarm starts going again.

This was my morning. My heart was racing, my lungs were hurting, and my thoughts were tumbling all over each other. I was picturing the arrival of firemen, the evacuation of my entire building, and me in my house dress.

Maybe I should explain about my house dress. I bought it at a yard sale where you could buy a bag of clothes for a dollar. I stuffed the dress in because I had room in the bag. It looked too big for me and was a really unflattering cut anyway. But it was made of very soft cotton, like a night gown. For all I know it could be a night gown. Since then, it's gotten a lot of use on the weekends. It's comfortable and lighter than pajamas. It hangs off me like a tent, thoroughly hiding the already small effect that puberty had on me. The only person who sees me in it is Josh. I believe in truth in relationships. He might as well get used to me in the house dress, because that's the way it's going to be, buddy.

Back to the lap desk and the fire alarm. While packing up my desk, I had come across boxes of old checks. I didn't want to just throw them away, nor did I want to cart them off to yet another residence. So I struck upon the brilliant idea of burning them in the fireplace. I was working from home today because of snow, and I thought it would be nice to have a little fire going. I had a hard time getting it started, but after a few minutes, I had a strong blaze. Then I noticed that rather than the smoke going up the chimney, it was coming out into the room. The smoke alarm noticed it, too.

So I started fanning the smoke alarm with my lap desk. I got it to shut up. I ran and opened the doors to the balcony. The alarm went off again, so I ran back and started fanning it again. Got it to stop, ran to the front door and opened that, the alarm started up again. Fan, fan, fan, noticed that the fire was really going well and had plenty of fuel to go. Ran to the sink and filled up an empty milk jug with water. Alarm started up again, fan, cough, fan, fan, threw the water on the fire, which doused it, but caused even more smoke. Alarm, cough, fan, fan, cough, fan. Cold air came in from the outside as the room started to clear, and me in my house dress.

As I was fanning, my arms getting tired and my lungs getting sore, I was reminded of being twelve and setting a fire in the trash can in my room. The plastic trash can. That was a really stupid move, and the fire could have caused some serious damage. But this, this was totally not fair. Okay, yeah, the smoke was a problem, but only for me. The fire was under control and located in a perfectly acceptable place for a fire to be. There was no danger. The fire department had better not come.

My lungs were screaming, like a whiny child in the midst of a crisis, and I thought to myself, OKAY, I KNOW, I'M ON IT! I thought about the cartoon I had seen on a fire department sign, picturing someone crawling on the floor to escape breathing smoke. That was all well and good, but I couldn't fan the smoke alarm from a crawling position and, in my book, escaping humiliation is much more important than avoiding permanent lung damage. I could pass out from the smoke inhalation, and that would be fine, as long as some fireman didn't come and find me collapsed in a heap in my house dress.

Finally, the smoke stopped pouring out of the fireplace. The room stopped looking like the set of the last scene in Casablanca. My lungs and the fire alarm stopped complaining. I closed the doors and sat down to calm down. I considered having a drink to ease my nerves, but it was 10 am and I was supposed to be working. If I were a smoker, I would have wanted a cigarette.

I opened the flue. You probably figured out the problem about when I did, which was about when the smoke detector went off for the first time. Soot and ash rained down on my hand. I sighed and wiped it on my house dress.