The Poverty Jet Set

Last night, Audrey were already in bed early. Probably 11pm. Sometime around the witching hour I get woken by loud banging on our door. Still groggy, I crack my eyes open to see our room flooded with flashing red lights.

“Uh oh,” I think. “Something ain’t right.”

Sure enough, I stand at the window in my boxers and see what appears to be our whole house surrounded by fire trucks. Oh boy.

“Audrey, wake up! Get your clothes on!”

I throw on some jeans and a t-shirt and run downstairs. The following thoughts ran through my mind:

1. my wife gets dressed hella slowly, even in an emergency
2. I’m glad they made me buy that home insurance
3. funny, I don’t feel that warm in here
4. wouldn’t it be wild if flames started coming out my closet
5. if our house burns down, we’ll move to India
6. that’s not so bad. could be worse.

So while I’m outside checking out my neighbor’s house on fire and smoking something fierce and the firemen putting it out and the campfire smell when there isn’t a campfire and the cold, damp night, I think, dang we’re lucky it’s been put out.

As one of the firemen are walking past back to his truck I say, “boy it’s great you guys came so quick.”

He laughs knowingly. “Yeah, we’re the ones who will always come. We always come when you call.”

I smiled and almost asked him if he read my blog last week.