A year or so ago I had a small gathering of friends, and we sat in my back yard under the stars grouped around my chiminea with glasses of wine or beer in our hands. My dear friend Jon and I took charge of the chiminea.
Now, two admitted pyromaniacs should not share responsibilities involving flames. Granted, we are tongue-in-cheek pyromaniacs... we enjoy a good fire, and all things related.
We took to task of getting the kindling underneath the cedar and pine logs, and were all ready to light the kindling. My hair, past shoulder length, was wound in a loose bun -- a small detail that will come into play shortly. I was on my knees, lighter in hand, ready to go. At the same moment, my (not too attentive) friend Jon sprayed lighter fluid on the fire at the same time I struck the lighter.
Fire exploded out in a neat fireball and a soft whoosh. And my hair caught fire. The smell of one's on hair burning is not a pleasant one. The good news is that only a few small tendrils near my temples burned. The bad news is that we're a year later... and those small tendrils now stick out of my head in an unruly manner when my hair is pulled back. Just a few more inches to go, Jon, before it's all grown back!
*Footnote: I do not start fires with Jon anymore.