I recently found myself here, in this hallway. Alone.
Doesn't this look like the hallway that time forgot? Or like something you would see in a horror movie? Can't you hear the echo of the killer's footsteps as the young heroine is trying to escape? And the killer's footsteps are extra creepy because he has a peg leg, so instead of "step-step," you hear "step-thump, step-thump, step-thump..." And you are urging the heroine to RUN as fast as she can, except her left leg was badly injured by a Rottweiler, so she is dragging that leg and leaving a big bloody trail for the killer to follow. And she just needs somewhere to hide, but the hallway stretches on forever and ever, with no doors in sight...
Fortunately, I was just in a weird old tunnel at LAX and a few moments after taking this photo, I emerged into the hubbub of the baggage claim area. But if a herd of wild animals had come stampeding down the hallway, I would not have been surprised.
This post is about this thingee:
I'm not certain what it's proper name is - heck, I don't even know if it has a name - but let's call it "the BBQ Igniter." If you pull the trigger, a flame ignites from the end of the black tube. It's basically the mother of all matches. I use it to light candles because I'm lazy that way.
This particular BBQ Igniter is dead. When I shake it, I can hear some fluid sloshing around, and if I pull the trigger, it smells like smoke; but it no longer produces a flame.
So what am I supposed to do with it?
Obviously, it's garbage. I'm not going to bronze or frame the dead BBQ Igniter. But how do I get rid of it?
I'm not trying to be cute or clever. I know that garbage goes in the garbage can. But although broken, the BBQ Igniter was designed for one purpose: to start fires. It still emits a little smoke when I pull the trigger. I'm not putting this thing in my trash can! What if it starts to work again? Oh sure, it's broken now, but my broken hair dryer recently came back from the dead. Maybe this is a zombie BBQ Igniter, and it will awaken when I bury it in the trash can. Then, what if the the weight of the garbage forces the trigger down, thereby sparking a flame? I could burn down the entire neighborhood!
I guess I could wait until trash day and then quickly toss the Zombie BBQ Igniter in the trash can when I hear the garbage truck. Then, the BBQ Igniter would never have a chance to ignite my trash.
But the guilt would destroy me.
I would always wonder: where is the BBQ Igniter? Buried in a landfill? Is it really safe?
Then, if a fire starts in a landfill, I will know that the BBQ Igniter is to blame. And knowing my luck, the BBQ Igniter won't spark some tiny flame that is easily managed with a fire extinguisher. It will create an inferno that captures the nation's attention, forces thousands to evacuate, and threatens a wildlife sanctuary for baby pandas.
There will be an inquiry, and the fire investigator will gravely announce that the fire of the century was started by a broken BBQ Igniter. The fire investigator will hold up the evil device, and though it is charred and melted, I will recognize it immediately. No one will be able to trace the BBQ Igniter back to me, but I'll come forward and be sentenced to a lifetime in a federal security prison.
ALL BECAUSE I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO PROPERLY DISPOSE OF THE BBQ IGNITER.
I cannot be haunted by these possibilities. So, instead of throwing out the BBQ Igniter, I will stash it in our garage's darkest corner. Someday, we will sell this house and move. When we move, I'll "forget" to pack the BBQ Igniter. Muhahaha! Let the future owners of my house figure out how to deal with the damn thing.
I am not a brave woman. Recently, I was home alone at night and heard several suspicious creaks. Ominous creaks. The sort of creaks that a serial killer might make as he sneaks inside a closet. My imagination was in rare form. When Nathan got home, I was in the car, shoeless and in my pajamas, ready to flee at the first sign of the serial killer.
But you know what is even scarier than things that go bump in the night? The Pre-Thanksgiving supermarket.
Over the next few days, it's not just that the supermarket gets crowded. It gets dangerous. Every year, 1 in 5 Americans die while shopping for their Thanksgiving groceries. (I have no proof for this statistic, but it sounds right). Emergency rooms across the country are overwhelmed by Thanksgiving victims. Last year, an entire family was buried alive by an avalanche of canned sweet potatoes. My neighbor suffered a concussion when he was hit in the head by a frozen butterball turkey. And once, I saw a shopper turn into a werewolf and actually tear off another customer's arm as they battled for the last bag of cranberries.
I can barely handle the creaks my house makes when I'm home alone at night. I simply cannot handle the grocery store in the days before Thanksgiving. That is why I finished buying the ingredients I need for my Thanksgiving cheesecake today. And that is why, if I forgot something, I'll be sending my husband back to the store. Like I said, I'm not a brave woman.
Ordinarily, I am not a candle person. A lit candle is supposed to soothe and relax the soul. But when there's a lit candle in my home, I just agonize over the ways that the candle might set the house on fire. My imagination can sometimes be a serious liability.
But how could I resist these candles?
I did not want to light my woodland creature candles ever because (a) they might start an inferno and (b) they are the most freaking adorable candles ever. But I knew I was being crazy. A candle's vocation is to provide light. If I never lit my candles, they would languish and lead unfulfilling lives. The candles wanted me to light them. So I did.
For a brief moment, my candles glowed and looked so sweet and charming. Why was I so worried about lighting them? Do I really want to hoard a pair of candles for the next fifty years?
Then I heard their screams.
I quickly extinguished the flames but was too late. Look at their precious wicks! They are scarred! I maimed by babies!!
I'm never lighting a candle again.
