the flammable housemate

Years and years of dire warnings clearly directed at the wrong person.

I do not have the best track record with fire. Yes, in my quest for warmth I’ve scorched things many times and once I accidently set my hair on fire in an unfortunate incident involving a sewing machine. And my sole freakishly persistent obsession, which sits constantly in the back of my mind, is that one day I’ll leave the iron on and burn down the house.
Despite close shaves, however, as yet I have failed to set my clothes on fire UNLIKE my so-clever housemate – dispenser of many many warnings about proximity to heat sources and possible consequent consequences.
Yesterday, dallying a little too close to the dining room heater (and for a little too long), she set her dressing gown aflame. Thankfully there was no damage other than burn marks all up one side of the (previously) baby blue dressing gown. It was a bit scary, really, how quickly it happened. We both spend so much time huddled over that heater – it’s surprising nothing has happened before.
I’ll be keeping a close watch on the third member of our household from now on though. At the moment Maisie is the only one of us who has not experienced the unpleasant aroma of singed outer garments. She wears hers permanently so singed bits would not be good.