Okay, I know I just posted something 3 minutes and 28 seconds ago. But I realized that I have a story that desperately needs to be told. This is the story of the "Birthday Fire." It goes like this:
Eleven days ago, on my last night in Arizona before coming back to Utah for the new semester, my parents threw me a kind of quickie birthday celebration, since my birthday had almost-but-not-quite arrived. Ah, the gloriously beautiful cake with happy little sprinkles dancing all over it, and flickering, tantalizing candles. I reached for it to draw it close so that I could blow my birthday wish into existence... Alas, I leaned too close.
"You're on fire!" my mom yelled (which was not exactly helpful) and proceeded to start blowing in the general direction of my hair (which was helpful). The nasty smell of burning hair filled my nose, and I realized what had happened only after the flames had been extinguished. My hair had been on fire. On. Fire.
The ends of the hairs on the left side of my head were curled in the semblance of velcro...and they were about two inches shorter.
I smelled like burned something for days.
Although I really intended to get my hair trimmed when I got back to Utah so people wouldn't ask questions, it never happened. I felt kind of like a heroic survivor.
And the story was just too good.
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