About a year and a half ago, I was taking a shower before school. It was a during a pretty bad rainstorm, but I’d never believed in the whole “You’ll get electricuted if you do ANYTHING during a rainstorm!” myth. Needless to say, I was electricuted. Not badly, just enough to send me stinging and sore and very, very surprised. I jumped out of the shower promptly and wrapped a towel around me.
At that moment, the smoke detectors went off. I ran outside, still in my towel, calling 911 on my cell phone. The firefighters arrived shortly after and checked out the house. Finally, after an extensive forty-five investigation for fires (during which I was shaking in my little bathtowel in the January air), a stoic-faced firefighter came out and approached me.
“Sorry to tell you this, but it looks like you got all dressed up for nothing,” he told me. “Everything’s fine in there.” He must have noticed that I was embarrassed for having stood scantily clad in my cul-de-sac for so long, so in what I’m sure he hoped was a reassuring tone, he told me, “Well look on the bright side! You look mighty nice in that towel!”
It didn’t make me feel better. At all.
