Ring of Fire


Last night, my friends Sarah and Abraham (funny, right?) had a campfire at their house to inaugurate the summer party season. After a day of rain, the sun came out, which was a definite plus for the party. I did my stint at Bath and Body Works and then headed out to their house for some friendly banter, Wisconsin beer, homemade chocolate chip cookies, and s’mores. Man, was I ever a happy girl.

We had a great time talking about the random things that adults talk about when they get together. We roasted marshmallows. And as it got cooler, we pulled closer to the fire circle for the inviting warmth it gave. I held my feet out over the rocks, where Abraham had put some burning coals, savoring the heat on my feet. Until…

“Um, Mary? I think your pants might be on fire.” Yes, it’s true. The bootlegs were a little more bootleg than I thought. My left pant leg made contact with ember, giving new meaning to the “Liar, liar; pants on fire” idea. I quickly patted out the small flame (don’t worry; this was not inferno) and went about my business. These were my newest jeans. But they were also my darkest jeans. Hey, at least it will give us something to talk about…


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