Screwing around at the bonfire

My friend Mike just called looking for a ride to the hospital next week. It all started Saturday night at his mid-February bonfire (related post: Rules for Daddy's Hangover).

Normally you wouldn't think an outdoor party would be the place to be on a cold February night in New England, but if you have enough wood and other flammable materials it can be quite cozy. The keg of Farmer Brown didn't hurt either.

Things started ominously with the arrival of a fire truck shortly after the fire got going strong. They pulled slowly up the drive, lights flashing, and Mike went over to talk to them. He came back with a piece of paper in his hand and we all thought it was over. "Citation?" someone asked. "Nope," replied Mike. "Cooking permit." Cool! The fire department can count on my support at town meeting for their budget request.

My wife and I missed the late fun, though--babysitter, clock ticking, money slipping away, you know how it goes. Then on Monday morning on my way to work I happened to drive past Mike walking out of Cafe Koko on crutches.

I rolled down my window. "What happened to you?"

"Broke my ankle stomping on the fire at 3 AM."

And I missed it! It's a pretty nasty break, too. His appointment is to have screws put in. Maybe a little glue too and a c-clamp to hold it all together, who knows.