The Accidental Arsonist

Having had, what can only be described as, "an incident" with a microwave bag of popcorn - I endured a two and a half hour sqwirm-a-thon in my cinema seat.

I was supposed to be participating in a film review of James Bond - Casino Royale, but even in the dark, it proved hard to concentrate. The college air-conditioning system regurgitated the heavy scent of carbonized corn like the ghastly presence of the Toast Ghost at home.

How many times, over the years, had I heard the worried whispers behind my back:

"You left her with the pancakes. Is that wise?"

"How much lighter fluid is left? Maybe Andy should light the barbecue..."

"Is there a fireguard?"

Honestly, anyone would think I've caused a fatality, or been convicted, or something.

Anyhoo, back to the review. After all, I would be expected to write another Writing Class doozy... I was trying to concentrate on Daniel Craig but I couldn't.

Look, I told myself, He's all wet again, 'cos the sprinklers have gone off at the airport. Heck, can you imagine how soggy we'd all be if the sprinklers had gone off in here?

Nervously, I sniffed the air again. Yes. Still there. Burnt, burny smell, with extra burnt bits in.

Somehow I managed to get through it all, with much apologizing and eye rolling at my own stupidity, and then into my car.

Remember the time you set fire to your car? I fondly recollected, pulling out of the car park and heading home. I smoked back in those days. The butt came back in through the window. Bye-bye back seat.

Then that was it; my mind flashed to a memory of a bedroom carpet melting under a careless iron; a pan of rice, forgotten; disregarded, romantic candle in the bathroom - I mean, the bathroom for goodness sake, it's where water lives and there are no soft furnishings - still managed it, though; my favorite coat, with me in it, as I leaned nonchalantly over a gas hob at an old boyfriend's house.

Perhaps a terrorist group have got to me. They've hypnotized me at some point in to becoming a suicide-pyromaniac. Oh-my-god, I AM A WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION. Maybe if I can look back at all my arson attacks I can recall a trigger word, or something. No. The only common denominator is me.

I pulled in to the drive and listened to the end of Firestarter by the Prodigy before turning the radio off.

"Hey, honey. I'm home!" I announced at the back door.

"Great." Smiled Andy, wiping a paint brush on an oiled rag. He stuck his head out of the studio and kissed my cheek. "How was the film? And what's that awful smell?"

"I had an incident," I replied.


----------------STOP PRESS------------STOP PRESS-----MOST RECENT ARSON ATTACK CAUSED BY WRITING.COM------ACME REPRESENTATIVE MANAGED TO SET A BOILED EGG ON FIRE WHILST LOST ON THE SITE------------YOU COULDN'T MAKE IT UP, COULD YOU---------STOP PRESS-----STOP PR----------

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