"fireworks" in the bedroom

I couldn't resist the post title.  But it's (probably) not what you're thinking it means.

Last night I got into bed early while Brian was finishing up something for something-or-other.  He came into our room, saw me reading, turned on the ceiling fan, and left.  

In my head, some form of 'that was random' thought or other started rolling around until I was interrupted by a weird motor-y noise.  No biggie, right?  The fan usually makes a weird noise when it starts up - sounds like a plate spinning on a tile floor.  We thought it was because the bowl-looking thing that covers up the wires and whatnot connecting to the ceiling had come loose - which it had, we just hadn't gotten around to screwing it back in place.

It didn't take long to realize that this noise was different, and was augmented by another, more scary, noise...something like shorting wires.  I looked up (in terror) and saw (in terror) SPARKS and little blue FLAMES coming from the ceiling fan - the part between the blades and the motor, AKA the part directed at me.

Now, our bedroom is small.  Like 8x10 maybe.  SMALL.  My college dorm rooms were bigger.  The fan is square over the middle of the bed; the door is on one side of the fan, and the WIFE was on the other side.  If this thing came down, or if it lit a fire, I would be trapped in the corner of the room opposite the door.  If I would try to leave through the door, I would have to come within inches - at most, a foot and a half - of any fire that might start, given the tight arrangement of mattress and dressers in there.  

Either that, or push the window unit out and make the 8-ish foot jump out the window.  In my summer (read: insubstantial) PJs and with no shoes.  Over a holly bush.  How's that for fun?

So in the oh, half a second it took me to run through all of this, I made the rational decision to cower and scream for Brian, rather than oh, I don't know, make my escape before a real actual fire happened, or, you know, grab the extinguisher over on Brian's side of the bed just in case a real actual fire happened or make a dash for the switch to like turn the thing off or something.  And of course at hearing his name in panic, he's all 'what is it now,' thinking I saw a spider or something.  Because I am prone to calling for help when there are spiders and that's what I would have thought, too, if I didn't know there was an electrical fire threatening to splode all over my pillow.

Brian, if you're reading this, please take note:  spider panics are more whiney than 'OMG I am SRSLY about to die' panics.  Remember how sharp and urgent it was last night and next time, run don't walk. And next time I'll try to say FIRE FIRE FIRE instead of BRIAN BRIAN BRIAN.

So he comes walking into the room and I say something like THE CEILING FAN'S ON FIRE and he turns it off all calm-like and says, and I quote, 'Nuh-uh.'  Or maybe it was 'no way.'  Either way, I find it necessary to say IT WAS ON FIRE LOOK AT THE SMOKE.  And then the whole room was full of smoke and that really sharp electrical fire smell.  He kinda marveled for a minute, because I mean who wouldn't, and then he went back to working on whatever he was working on and I made a note to call the landlord.

And that, my friends, is why I had bad dreams all night.

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