Beware of the Broiler

In an effort to curb my current spastic writing tendencies (or lack there of), I suppose I will offer up a story this evening. The other night, I nearly lost all of my hair...yes, it nearly went up in a ball of fire and a cloud of smoke. You see, in an effort to make dinner, I dipped my head into the oven and neglected to remind myself that the broiler was on; and in doing so missed the flame shooting from the top most portion of my oven. I sat down to eat our delicious dinner of rolls with pesto, peppered turkey, mozzarella, and tomato when Laurel unsuspectingly brushed the top of my head. After such a motion, I noticed the smell of something burning and commented on such an observation. Casually, Laurel replied that perhaps I was smelling an old campfire or something. This I knew, however, could not have been the case, that is unless her campfires were composed of synthetic materials that did not smell like burning wood. Hurriedly, I ran into the kitchen, suspecting the worst. Not finding any fiery messes or melting plastic, I returned to the living room where Laurel asked what was covering my face and mentioned that she thought my hair had caught on fire. Confused, and a wee bit perplexed, I ran to the bathroom and did in fact discover that my hair had caught on fire. This left me thinking that though, I was in need of a trim, using the broiler was probably not the best avenue into acquiring one.