We have a fireplace in our apartment. The real kind requiring real wooden logs as opposed to the fake kind that never actually burn.
And so today when our apartment was freezing, I decided to use the fireplace by filling it with our our junk mail. (Free fuel. Sweet.)
My plan was working perfectly until our smoke alarm went off and I stepped back from the fireplace to see smoke against the ceiling.
I. Panicked. I am not good in a crisis. I imagined fire trucks coming, a crowd gathering, and the issuing of a hefty fine for all the trouble.
I called Brad.
He could have lectured. He could have been angry.
He laughed. And then he told me how to open the flue.
An hour later he came home and Febreezed the place.
I really love that guy. And. I need him. Apparently.