This post is kinda like E.T. Not that there are extra-terrestrials or a pre-detox Drew in it, but it’s still like E.T. See, I didn’t see E.T. when everyone else in the whole world saw it. For whatever reason, it just took a long time to get around to seeing it. By then, people had talked it up so freakin’ much, and they had gone on and on and on and on about it, that when I saw it, I thought, meh. It just didn’t do anything for me. Because people had gone on and on and on.

This post is like that. Because yesterday’s comments indicate that you guys are waiting for this killer post about setting myself afire. Trouble is, the story isn’t all that interesting. But I promised, and it beats working.

See, it’s hard to be cool. I try to walk around here with the swagger, walkin’ the talk as well as talkin’ it. Tragically hip. Too cool for Top 40, knowwhatImean? So every once in awhile, I get a little life lesson in how uncool I really am. And that life lesson comes as a result of having attempted to be a grownup and work and everything. When it really, in all honesty, cannot be done.

So there was this candle. Lovely white-tea-and-ginger scent. Given to my daughter from one of her adoptive moms here at work. So Wednesday, when Miss Priss came back to work with me after a doctor’s appointment, she decided to light it. And the atmosphere was lovely. But the time came to leave, and I was picking up around my office to get ready to go.

And I blew out the candle.

But see, here’s where my low coolness ratio really comes in. I blew out the candle. A piece of the wick, still lit, broke away and went straight up.

Up. My. Effin.’ Nose.

Well of course it was still lit. This is ME we are talking about. Hell yeah.

The burning ember (or was it a cinder? Anyone? Anyone?) plants itself right there the hell in my nostril. And it starts melting the inside of my nose. My eyes were watering. I was sputtering. I was hollering to beat the band. Miss Priss was looking at me like, well, like she always does, come to think of it.

But anyway, so there are tears running down my face and smoke, YES SMOKE, coming out of my nose like a bull in a cartoon.

So what do I do? I go running outside my office, hollering, with my finger up my nose. And people — God and everybody — just stared. I realized immediately that it looked, for all intents and purposes, like I was picking my nose and screaming. Oh. And crying. Let me complete that image.

Oh. And yes. There was a blister.

Well of course it hurt.

I tell ya, it’s hard to be cool.

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