A number years ago, while I was up late writing, I smelled smoke. I anxiously left the computer and began walking around the house, using my nose to lead me to the source. Before I could get all the way to the kitchen, the smoke detector went off upstairs. I ran to the stairs and looked up to the top to see my husband, sleepy-face and in his underpants, tossing water from a small bathroom Dixie cup onto a smoking wall by our bedroom.
When I got to the top of the stairs, hubby explained that the space heater we used to heat the upstairs had overloaded the outlet and started a fire. He held the now unplugged and melted plug up as evidence. The white wall was charred, but there was no more smoke. The wall no longer felt warm, but we were concerned that there might be fire inside the wall that we could not detect, so we called the fire department to be on the safe side.
All the noise woke Destiny (then all of 8 or so). She opened her bedroom door and zombie-walked out to see her dad in his boxers, the small cup still in his hand. We briefly explained the situation and that the firemen were on their way, just to be sure the fire was out. Her large blue eyes got even wider, but she didn't say a word and just went back to bed. Apparently, seeing dad on the job was all the reassurance she needed.
To this day, we discuss hubby's superhero costume as consisting of his underpants and a Dixie cup.
My superhero costume is very different; but that's another story for another day.
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