My love life has been a bit chaotic lately, so let’s cut out all the details and just say I was happily laying in bed with my new bf a few nights ago, falling asleep while gleefully staring into his eyes. Comfortable and content, my fuzzy TJ blanket (yep, the ones gringos buy while waiting in the border line) was a bit too hot for me that night so my left leg and arm were hanging out in the cool night’s air.
Not more than an hour after my lids closed for the last time, I awoke to hot flecks of plastic falling like tiny torpedoes onto my arm and leg. The searing pain woke me within minutes and after a half second of disorientation, I registered the huge flames dancing just behind my bf’s head. Due to our let’s-stare-into-each-others’-eyes-super-romantically session, we had left a candle burning. I have no freakin’ clue how the nearby mini fan caught fire, but it did and the flames were gigantic.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Was all I could manage, before I shook him awake and nodded toward the flames.
We both jumped out of bed, and I’m not totally clear on what happened next, but somehow, the flames leaped from the fan and the nightstand to the middle of the bed. Bf grabbed a pillow and started beating at the flames. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a huge glass of water.
We won (take that, fire!). The flames went out and it was only then that the pain of burnt plastic on skin began to really sink in. My nerve endings were pissed, and they wanted my brain to know about it.
I took a cold shower and peeled the bits of fan from my flesh. I was shaking, so the process took longer than it should’ve.
We spent the rest of the night inhaling toxic plastic fumes, wrapped in wet towels because of the extraodrinary pain of the burns. I now have huge blisters splattered across my left arm and leg. I had a blister about the size of a gumball on my foot. My glasses, which had been on the nightstand, suffered a pretty good burn, and bf got a few good burns, too, but other than that we’re fine and dandy.
I learned four things from the bed fire: One, I fucking hate candles. Two, I’m never allowed to use stupid candles again. Three, Jesus hates me (the candle was of the cheap Mexican Jesus variety). Four, there are no smoke alarms in Tijuana and the whole caged window and door thing is nice when it comes to keeping out burlgers but pretty freaking terrible when it comes to getting the hell out of a burning home.