Is it hot in here? or is it just me?

I used to like to play with fire. Anytime I could get my hands on my parents lighter or matches I was burning something. I created little fires in back alleys, and one time almost started my moms purse on fire. I can remember vividly the day I discovered how much fun it was to burn a piece of Kleenex. (If you've never experienced this great entertainment, please, I urge you to try it, unless of course you're a small child, in which case, DON'T PLAY WITH FIRE!) That same day, right after I had been burning Kleenex, my dad came home from work and asked me right away if I had been playing with fire. I answered no, thinking there was no possible way he could have known what I was up to. But as it turned out, I had singed my eyebrows and eyelashes, evidence I had obviously overlooked. Anyways, as I've grown, I've come to respect that fire is not to be toyed with. However, as much as I try to respect fire, it still has a way of finding me. Like the time I turned the eliment on high and forgot about the unlit cigarette I stuck on it. After some time I retunred to the kitchen to find my smoke had burned itself into ashes, and a teatowel sitting nearby had set on fire. Or the time my eliment was so dirty, full of things that had boiled over from being cooked on high and forgotten about, that it set on fire when I was cooking veggies. My mother-in-law bought us 400$ pots and pans for Christmas last year, and told me she'd kill me if I ever cooked on high with them. Needless to say I've now learned to cook on medium. Well, this last Saturday we had a couple from church over for supper. I decided I was going to bake some potatoes, so being pressed for time, I stabbed the crap out of them first and nuked them in the microwave. I rushed through the tinfoil process which wasn't wise, because I put butter in the tinfoil as well. It's happened to me before where there will be a rip in the tinfoil and the butter leaks out. Well, this is what happened. No big deal, other than the fact that it started smoking up a storm at the bottom of the oven. I opened the oven and smoke filled my kitchen. It was already a billion degrees in our apartment, so it was such a nice treat to have the oven wide open while my hubby was trying to clean up the mess I'd created. Well, it was alright for about two minutes, until I noticed that a small fire had started in the bottom of the oven. Large enough that our friends could see the glow around the corner in the living room. They asked us if we needed the fire extinguisher, and I was too embarassed to mention that we don't even have one. My face must have been another shade of red, and it wasn't from the heat of the flames. My husband came to rescue yet again, and saved the potatoes. I assured my guests that I do cook, and I've never started my oven on fire before. They had a good laugh though, and I'm glad I was able to provide them with some entertainment while they were here. I'm so glad that my Heavenly Father takes care of me, otherwise I'm sure there would be many days that my husband would come home from work to find that our home had fallen apart.