I followed suit, running through the To house expecting to see a car crash of mega proportions. As I slid through the kitchen I subconsciously noticed that the appliances were flashing the time, one minute earlier. I flung the glass door open and stepped onto the sidewalk. To my left I saw a blackened utility pole and the mother yelling into her cell phone. With a yelp, a man barreling from the right caught my attention. Before his mouthing of "FIRE", I noticed the To front lawn in flames.
Grabbing the hose and turning the knob, I began to spray the blackened (already) dead grass. Across the street, I noticed a woman on her cell phone and a man running my way with fire extinguisher. He stopped. The woman continued flailing her arms, obviously in a wild conversation. The yelping man commended me on squelching the flames and left.
Hose in hand, I realized I was in a bikini. Only a bikini.
The flailing arms woman ran across the road.
"I called the fire department," she stated. "However, once they got on the line you had already came out with the hose. I told them a girl in a bikini was putting out the fire, and they requested that I tell you to stop. But I told them that you were doing a fine job and handling well, all while wearing a bikini. I finally hung up on them, but I think they are going to be sending a truck."
Sirens wailed from the north.
I thanked the woman then fled to the backyard to retrieve (at least) a pair of shorts and my cell phone. As I climbed up the side walkway, the fire engine had stopped at the house down the way to observe the blackened utility pole. Within a minute they made their entrance into the To yard. With the fancy, high industrial hose they proceeded to re-hose the blackened patch and all surrounding bushes and yard.
The firemen were sure a cigarette was the catalyst, but those suspicions were laid to rest as we found pieces of the utility wire within the blackened goo.
I thanked the woman then fled to the backyard to retrieve (at least) a pair of shorts and my cell phone. As I climbed up the side walkway, the fire engine had stopped at the house down the way to observe the blackened utility pole. Within a minute they made their entrance into the To yard. With the fancy, high industrial hose they proceeded to re-hose the blackened patch and all surrounding bushes and yard.
The firemen were sure a cigarette was the catalyst, but those suspicions were laid to rest as we found pieces of the utility wire within the blackened goo.
Thirty minutes passed and the hysteria calmed. I called Lisa to inform her of the excitement. I figured the sooner I could contact her the better so that she did not receive a call from one of the many friends who drive 92nd Avenue saying, "Hey Lisa, are you home yet? There is a fire truck in front of your house!"
When I walked in the house and saw myself in the mirror I had visions of the redneck, mumu and pink hair curlers clad woman who is interviewed after every tornado in the South declaring that it sounded like a freight train and somehow missed her trailer. I had a bikini top, gray short, and my hair was standing on end thanks to my many dips in the pool.
What an adventure.
