Spontaneous Combustion

It was one of the first warm days of spring and I was heading toward home, my window down, hair blowing in the breeze. The sun was shining and I didn't have a care in the world.

I was within a few blocks of home when I pulled up to the stop light. I was in the far right lane. In the left lane was one of those "I don't have enough testosterone in my own system so I'm compensating" trucks. You know the type, jacked up, big tires, diesal so you can notice them coming, if the flames on the hood didn't attract your attention. Of course, sitting in the truck were two men, sleeveless, t-shirt wearing men. My poor little car barely came up to the middle of the door.
I couldn't see the driver, but his buddy was smoking a cigarette, his arm hanging out the window. He was talking with his hands gesturing every now and then.

Well, the light turned green and off I went, toodling along. Of course, Mr. I have a really big truck didn't toodle - he roared off down the street leaving me in the dust. I hadn't driven more than a block when I smelled burning rubber, like a hose or a belt was getting hot. I didn't need car repairs, but even more, I didn't want to get stranded on this busy street. I moved into the left lane so that I could make a left-hand turn in another block.
But now, I had another problem, it felt like I was being stung on the top of my head. Just two days earlier, I had a bee fly in my window and land on my steering wheel. I shook my head trying to get the bee to stop. It didn't work. So I flicked my hand through my hair, hoping to get it to fly away without having it sting my hand.

It didn't work! Now, the bee had multiplied. I was getting attacked by several. I could feel at least 4 or 5 places where this bee or bees were at. I had no choice I had to swat them. Now mind you, I'm still driving down a busy 5 lane street.

I reached up and smacked myself on top of the head with the flat of my hand. I hit myself once, twice...arghhhhhhhhh! What's this? I had a handful of hair. My hair was falling out. My car was on fire...no my head was on fire. MY HEAD WAS ON FIRE?????

I began smacking myself with my left hand as I steered with my right trying to get home. I'm sure people were pointing and staring as that crazy woman drove down the street with smoke pouring from her head. I quickly turned on to a side street and drove as fast as I dared because no matter that my head was combusting, I did NOT want a ticket. Besides, how do you explain that you were speeding because your head was spontaneously combusting. No one is going to believe you. And if I was going up in flames, my body charred beyond recognition, I at least wanted to be in my own driveway.

Guess what? I made it home and by then, the flames were out. The fire wasn't caused by my overwhelming intelligence, my mega-watt personality. Nope, I realized that when that truck roared past me, the red-hot ash from the man's cigarette must have blown into my car, landing on my head where it ignited my hair.

The end result, I had 4 or 5 places where my beautician had to cut out the charred spots and I had a couple of blisters but thankfully nothing more serious, but now, I drive with the windows closed.