Hot Time

I bought some stupidly expensive new pillows and sheets the other day. That evening, A came over, we walked around the neighborhood for a while then went back to the apartment to hang out. We lit a bunch of candles, put on Bach Cello Suites, opened a coupla bottles of wine and ate finger food and just generally chilled out and talked about nothing.

Well, one thing led to another and before long we were engaged in a rather vigorous aerobic workout.

Now this next part gets a little fuzzy. I'm not sure if I smelled something, or if I just happened to lift my head for a moment, but all of a sudden I notice that one of my new pillows is on fire! Not smoldering, but in flames! I immediately jump out of bed (also jumping out of A) and try to blow out the pillow. No good. As a matter of fact, had it been a minute or so later, the blowing would've sent flaming bits of European white goose down all over the room. So I ran to the bathroom, threw the pillow in the tub and turned on the shower just as the smoke alarm went off. I ripped that fucker off the wall, trying to figure out how to remove the battery before the whole building woke up. Finally got that done, shut off the shower, and went back to bed where...

...A was totally oblivious. She had no idea what had just happened! All she wondered was why, at that particular moment, I had chosen to go take a shower. Had she done something wrong? And why was the alarm beeping? We had a good laugh about that, then went back to our merry romp.

The next day I went out and bought yet one more stupidly expensive pillow.