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tealight fireball

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

What. A. Day.

I was straightening out the bed when I heard the gal squawk from the bathroom. She'd tried to blow out a tealight that I'd left burning in there.

Instead of blowing out, the fuel all ignited at once. Before I could get there, I heard a 'pop', and heard her exclaim once more.

I arrived and found her attempting to blow out a raging tea-light inferno by waving at it. I grabbed something and scooped the burning tea-light into the sink, and turned on the tap.

At which point the tea light burst into a fireball that filled the sink.

I am not making any of this up. Nor am I exaggerating. I had a woman in my apartment. And the water caused the wax or whatever it had become to explode into flame.

When that was done, I noticed the wax everywhere, and the little ring-like anchor that the tea-light had to anchor the wick glued to the floor. The 'pop' had been the bottom of the tea-light becoming concave, warping with the heat. It had happened so quickly that the ring-anchor had been flung into the air, along with hot/burning wax.

The place was a mess, of course. And there's a scorched/cracked ring on the sink counter.

I cleaned up, nominally, and we went to eat breakfast. Or rather, we went to order breakfast and not be served for 45 minutes, at which point we left and went somewhere else.

It was that kind of morning.