When it is 29 degrees at night in May and you are on "vacation" alone in a big old house with no "heat", every moment possible is spent plastered to the fireplace. Sleeping happens on the sofa by the fire, in a death trap mummy bag/camp blanket combo. Which is fine because you are a big girl now and can make fires in your sleep.
Plus you haven't been afraid of being alone in a big, huge, freezing, creaky, ancient house since you were like 24, which seems like sooo long ago now that you're 25.
Plus you haven't been afraid of being alone in a big, huge, freezing, creaky, ancient house since you were like 24, which seems like sooo long ago now that you're 25.
As you drift off to frozen sleep, you congratulate yourself at being so excellent at "vacationing". You are a pro at relaxing, even in sub-zero temperatures. You should do this all the time.
Then a loud explosion jolts you from the sofa. You vainly attempt to paw your way out from under 1,000 wool blankets and a sleeping bag. Umm.... There are 4' tall flames winding their way up the wall surrounding fireplace. Cue gut wrenching primal death scream.
You fumble with the zipper of your mummy bag. It's stuck. The next 5 minutes are the most terrified minutes of your life thus far as you tear through a pitch black house, looking for something to dump on the fire.
Then a loud explosion jolts you from the sofa. You vainly attempt to paw your way out from under 1,000 wool blankets and a sleeping bag. Umm.... There are 4' tall flames winding their way up the wall surrounding fireplace. Cue gut wrenching primal death scream.
You fumble with the zipper of your mummy bag. It's stuck. The next 5 minutes are the most terrified minutes of your life thus far as you tear through a pitch black house, looking for something to dump on the fire.
In the end you dump vases of flowers (ever the florist) on the wall and call 911 as the house continues to fill with smoke. 8 trucks arrive, which strikes even you as excessive as you huddle in the front yard wearing a down parka and not much else.
Good news, your repeated dumpings of vase water managed to put out the most of the uncontained fire and the house has very minimal damage. Bad news, there are now 40 New Hampshire firemen looking at you in your, ahem, parka.
Relief sinks in, as does shame and the fact that it is 29 degrees outside and you are technically not wearing actual clothes. You skulk towards the car to better document this shame on camera, which, unlike pants, you didn't forget to grab as you left the burning house.
Yes, you think to yourself as you snap away photos for the blog, you are great at vacationing. You should do this all the time.
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