It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Some fluffy white clouds and plenty of sunshine with temps in the high 70's to low 80's and very little, if any, humidity. A perfect day to play with matches.
Mr. Effer loves his flower garden but hates the weeds and brush that accompanies it. He is always trimming a bush or two (get your minds outta the gutter). Unfortunately it takes him forever to burn the brush, so I took matters into my own hands....
Got matches? Check.
Got the wine? Check. Yago Sangria, cheap shit but it will do.
Got the brush at the base of a tree? Check. I want excitement!
Got a nice breeze? Check. I want big friggin' flames.
Got dry weather conditions? Check. Haven't had a good rain in three or four weeks.
Home alone? Check. I don't need no stinkin' help.
Everything was in place for an afternoon of excitement. I started the brush fire. Plopped my fluffy butt in a chair, grabbed the needles and a cheap bottle of wine. Everything was fine until I drank too much and decided to take a nap in the beautiful sunshine. I was so darn relaxed that I fell asleep. It didn't matter that a tree was catching on fire and cinder blocks were exploding. I snoozed right through it, nothing could wake up this knitter.
And who came to save the day?
Certainly not him!My dweebie neighbors came to put out the fire, and I profusely thanked them for saving the neighborhood and my tree.
And the neighborhood is now safe from this dysfunctional knitter.... Mr. Effer took away the matches and banned me from playing with fire.
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