“No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!” Goldfinger

James Bond tried to kill me!

So, the other day, I was working in the den for a change of pace, when all of a sudden I started smelling a weird marshmallow scent. Oh, yum, I immediately thought, but increasingly, it started smelling more like burnt plastic or electrical wiring.

Alarmed, I started looking around the house. Sniff sniff, sniff sniff. It seemed to be concentrated in the den, although the upstairs had a bit of a burning smell as well.

Methodically, I then went outside, to see if possibly it was a neighbor sitiuation. Sniff sniff, sniff sniff. Nope, definitely indoors. All I smelled outside was the crisp fall air.

I went back inside, sniffed around again. Nope, still there. I contemplated calling the fire department. I know, that is probably what most rationale people would have done. But…having them come by with those fire alarms going…all those hunky fireman with their big fire hoses…

Instead, I called Corb, who was at work at his store, as this was a Friday. After three rings, it went to his voicemail. Corb, pick up! I tried again. Same deal. Dammit, where was that man when I needed him?

Hunky firemen…big hoses. Nope. Too embarrassing and how about if it was a false alarm? But still, the thought of something burning inside the walls was burning away at me. It was definitely a weird feeling. Like something ominous hanging in the air, a serpent waiting to strike.

Nope. Still not enough to warrant a call to the fire department. Instead, I called Annie. She lives down the street and always is available to help when I need her.

Fifteen minutes later, Annie was there. “Do you smell anything, sweetie?” I wanted validation, because, yes, I did immediately suspect a stroke.

She sniffed. “I do, dad. Something is burning here. And it smells pretty disgusting, too. Seems to be…” She walked around. “Yes, I think it’s in the den.”

We must have searched around the house for a half an hour, but couldn’t find anything.

My phone rang. It was Corb. “What’s up?”

“Fire!” I explained what was going down. He excused himself from work and started to drive home. Talked us through all of the things he thought it might be. We sort of isolated it to near the television.

“We just can’t find any real cause…” I said to Corb. And then, I looked up at the floor lamps next to the couch. “Oh!”

The floor lamp was one that Corb calls a torchiere (I had to ask him, I had no idea. But remember: he specializes in lighting restoration), and the reflecting bowl at the top is huge. And, from the looks of it, several of my DVDs had somehow managed to fall inside from the top shelf of the bookcase containing all my actions series a complete collection of Doctor Who. Our cat Ping had knocked them over, perhaps?

I climbed up on the couch to get a better look. Oh, ick. The result was a plastic gooey mess and the awful smell. And the damage? All my James Bonds and season one of Mission Impossible were now…extinct! It brought new meaning to the phrase “This tape will now self destruct in one minute…”

My house could have self destructed in a few more minutes.

Yeah, it could have been worse, I guess. None of my shitty musicals were harmed! PHEW!

And I laugh now, but as I gathered up the melted plastic gookiness and deposited it outside for tossing, I reflected on how lucky I had been. Fortunately, when I had first gotten whiff of the smell, as I was contemplated a stroke-like condition, I had also turned off all of the lamps inside the den, meaning that I had prevented it from getting any worse. I just didn’t know that at the time.

Corb swears I should have called the fire department. I don’t regret not doing it. It would have been a big hassle, everyone would have paid attention to our house, and we probably would have gotten a bill from the city afterwards. No thank you. I’ll save that for a time when they are really needed.

Still, someone was looking over me that day. Imagine if that light had been on and I hadn’t been home? Things could have been a lot crunchier.

Guess I live to die another day, Mr. Bond.