Sally Breslin: My Life: I HAD A REALLY HOT TIME ON VALENTINE'S DAY, FOR A CHANGE

I think Valentine’s Day this year will be one I’ll prefer not to remember in the future, and it’s not because I had no “significant other” to send me flowers and cards (which, actually, I didn’t). In fact, I actually spent part of my day with three young, muscular, uniform-wearing men in my house.

Unfortunately, they were firefighters.

The problem began with of all things, crows. During the winter, I feed the birds. I buy what I think is yummy birdseed (if I were a bird) that contains things like raisins, peanuts, sunflower hearts and more. I put it in the feeder, and then toss some on the ground for the ground-feeding birds.

But birdseed isn’t cheap, especially with the recession. So when I put out my gourmet feast, hoping to attract cardinals, finches and other colorful birds, and the squawking crows swoop in and gulp down everything as if they were preparing for an apocalypse, well, I get irritated.

The other day, in an effort to solve the problem, I bought a bag of cheap popcorn, thinking I’d pop it for the crows and maybe distract them from the birdseed. I figured crows must like corn and popcorn because why else would farmers put scarecrows in their cornfields?

Anyway, I’d read that the best and easiest way to pop the corn was to put it into a brown paper bag, fold over the top, and then microwave it for about 60 seconds. So on Valentine’s Day morning, that’s exactly what I did.

I shoved the bag into the microwave and turned it on the “popcorn” setting, then walked off. I was about four feet away when, 15 seconds later, I heard a loud “poof!” come from the microwave. I walked over to see what had made the noise and saw flames through the glass on the door. Like an idiot, I opened the door. The minute the air hit the fire, it fairly exploded, so I slammed the door and unplugged the microwave.

When the fire finally extinguished itself, I opened the door again. Huge clouds of smoke that smelled like barbecued skunk greeted me and filled the kitchen.

Considering the fact it was a balmy 12 degrees outside, with a wind chill of zero, I thought against throwing open the doors and windows to air out the place. I turned on the exhaust fan over my gas range instead.

At that point, something dawned on me. My electric smoke detectors, of which I have eight all hard-wired together, hadn’t made a peep. That was unusual, considering that previously, if I lit a scented candle they all would blare. So I was concerned, especially since one of them was located only three feet from the microwave and was in the habit of setting off all eight detectors when I even so much as made toast that was a shade darker than golden brown.

The more I thought about it, especially since I’d also recently put new backup batteries in the detectors, the more it bothered me, so I called my local fire department’s non-emergency number and asked the guy who answered why he thought my house could have burned down without any of the detectors going off. I mean, if I hadn’t been standing near the microwave at the time it went up in flames, I never would have known it was on fire and wouldn’t have unplugged it.

He said, “Well, it might be a good idea for us to come over and check things out.”

“Thank you,” I said.

No one was more surprised than I was to see a full-sized fire engine, the big ladder truck, with lights flashing arrive, and three firefighters, fully clad for battle in regulation helmets, boots and jackets and carrying various apparatus like extinguishers, come to my door.

When they found out the fire was fully out, one of them actually looked kind of disappointed. But they did check the electrical connections in the wall behind the microwave and even the drawers beneath it. They said everything seemed fine…except for the microwave, that is, which was in desperate need of receiving its last rites. They also tested the nearby smoke detector, which blared as if the great Chicago fire had just started.

The traitor.

“How long have you had these detectors,” one of the firefighters asked.

“Thirteen years.”

“They’re good for only 10. Time to replace all of them. Just buy some new ones of the same brand and snap them in."

He made it sound so simple.

“You’re telling me, an old lady, to climb up on chairs and ladders to reach these things to replace them?”

Their silence told me the answer basically was yes.

“Well,” I said, jokingly, “If the detectors cost more than a total of $10 for all of them, then I can’t afford them.”

One of the guys responded, his tone serious, “I really don’t know how much they cost.”

And that pretty much ended that.

After they left, I rushed out to buy a new microwave. The one that had just turned into a charcoal briquette, originally had been a small white one that cost me $29, so I wanted to replace it with something similar. That was when I learned that microwaves no longer were cheap. Even at one of the biggest discount stores in the area, the cheapest one I found was $80…and it was black (which, considering the fire, might have been a better choice of color for me).

Finally, I went to Home Depot, where I’d bought the original microwave, and to my delight (and shock) they still had one just like it…for $59. But that still seemed pretty reasonable, considering the rate of inflation, so I bought it.

If I had to blame someone for the fire, I’d blame the crows. I mean, the reason why I’d been popping the corn was to give them something to eat other than the more expensive birdseed.

And as a result, I ended up $59 in the hole.

That would have bought about 50 lbs. of gourmet sunflower seeds.

Oh, well…at least I had a really “hot” Valentine’s Day for a change.

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Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net