Ok. Ok. Ill let the cat out of the bag and let you all know exactly how it was that I came to have a flaming goatee the other night.
It had been a typical Sunday afternoon at the Prieto household. ManCamp had been in use during the Dolphins ass kicking by the Patriots. We did a little BBQ, Steve brought over an incredible baked Ziti. Beers had been imbibed. I had set a strict curfew of 6 p.m. as I had not been feeling too well and needed some rest.
After the game was over and the beers were gone and the ziti had been horked down – Steve ate enough for 4 people I might add – the guests and I had all gone inside the house. Tommy and Steve were getting their stuff ready to go home.
The Mrs. had been given this really cute aroma oil burner for her birthday. A little pocerlain house where you put the oil inside and light it and the house is instantly engulfed with a delicious scent. She had set it on the kitchen counter and the whole house had begun to smell quite nicely.
But then, as I walk towards the kitchen, I see the little house is on fire, or rather, I see little flames shooting up out of the porcelain thing. Now, being the dauntless and brave hero that I am, I immediately sprung into action. No little porcelain smelly thing was going to set fire to my house! I was going to save the day!!
I grabbed the marble base my wife had set it on and bolted outside with the fiery sculpture. I looked around but the hose was not connected where it usually is. The pool beckoned, I knew in an instant that all I needed to do was drop the thing into the pool and voila! No more flames. But it was a birthday present given to my wife and I didnt want to break it. So I blew it. I took a deep breath and blew directly into the fire.
Nothing happened. It just kept burning. I tried it again and nada. Instantly and with the massive intuitive powers beset upon me by mass quantities of beer, I knew what the problem was. I had not gotten close enough to the oily fire to have blown enough air to douse it. So intrepidly I took a deep breath, got really close to the thing and blew with all my might.
Apparently, the oil burning inside of the little porcelain house refused to succumb to my beer laden breath and instinctively jumped out at me and scattered, while lit, all over my chin and lips which were now about 2 inches away.
My goattee was aflame. My nose hairs burned. My face was on fire! The rest is but a painful blur save for the following anecdote:
After I had flushed the oil and burnt hair and flaming lips with cold water, after I had fallen to the floor in pain and agony, after all the talk of calling 911 and emergency rooms, after I had paced back and forth in writhing labial pain and after I had succumbed to the agony and laid down on the sofa, I hear a certain someone stating that the little porcelain thing had been a birthday gift from a friend who had said that she, too, loved the thing, except for the fact that it had almost burned down her kitchen. The birthday gift recipient had been warned about the oil and its mixing, a fact which had eluded that person at the time of its lighting.
Had I not been in severe pain I would have laughed my ass off during a maniacal crushing of the little porcelain aroma oil burner into complete and total smithereens while screaming “Birththay prethenth my ath! I goth yourth birththay prethenth right heahth.”