A reminder about open flames: a story of how I almost became Michael Jackson

Photo:  Hair after fire - minus about 6" on the right side.

The house is beautiful and glowing.  Am standing with back to fully enclosed gas fireplace.  Getting warm.  Talking to Steven who is sitting by the chess board.

Fzzzzzzzzz.  Crackle.

He jumps up running toward me.  Hits at my head.

Turn around to see behind me.  Whaaaaaaaat.

My hair has gotten long lately.  Down to the middle of my back.  Yesterday when we were at Umi Sake House, Alysha told me it was time for a cut.

This evening it is in a pony tail.

Reach up and can feel charcoal pieces here and there mainly near the bottom.

The pretty little tea light candles centered on the fireplace mantel had caught my hair on fire.

Steven says that he saw two flames shooting up about a foot behind me.

Am glad couldn't see that.

Start to wander around.  Go upstairs to look at damage in bathroom mirror.  Little pieces flake out and a few clumps collect in the basin.

Text the girls the carnage in the sink.  Take another picture to show them hair is still mostly intact.

Yuck.  Says Noelle.

I told you you needed a haircut.  Says Alysha.

Get the vacuum.

Open the doors even though it is 40 outside.

Can't get rid of the acrid smell.

Shampoo twice.

Whack at hair with scissors to make sure it is mainly straight across at the bottom.

It could have been much worse.