Pray for Us Sinners

I can't get into it right now, but the only way Jaime and I can watch our show is on a small laptop with headphones always attached to an extension cord running from the surge protector across the room.

Each night, Jaime simply covers his balls with a pillow, plugs the charger into the computer, inserts the split headphone jack beside it and untangles my free airplane earphones and his Apple ones before connecting them.

By that time, we're tightly tucked beneath our down comforter, so it drives him nuts when I'm restless, have to pee or get a drink of water. All things I cannot do at the same time.

Saturday night, we were about 20 minutes into an episode when I swore I could hear someone moving around the backyard. I shouldn't have been able to hear anything, so it was more a feeling of commotion. I kept squirming and taking a single earphone out to hear better, but that's as far as I was willing to go with my investigation.

The fifth or sixth time, his frustration propelled him out of bed to prove to me my true crime podcasts had turned me into a paranoid meerkat.

He threw back the sliding door curtains and before his face could turn from fuck you to oh fuck, he said, "Oh shit."

He explained that a tree in our backyard was on fire, and I kid you not, I hesitated. Our house is insured, but the chance to really stick it to Jaime is rare.

I regretted the pants I'd chosen as the truck pulled up because the first time an emergency vehicle had come to my house, the actual hottest firefighters of the year of our lord 2008 had gotten out, and I looked like shit then, too.

This time, a hot lesbian and not hot dude got out. My pants were fine.

They couldn't spray active power lines with water, so the most helpful advice they gave us was it was okay to fall asleep as long as our house didn't catch fire while we were asleep.

They left, and Jaime wanted to get back to our screen friends before we lost power like we owed them something.

Fuck that. It was time for some Night's Watch shit. My Jon Snow ass took the first shift.

The lines and tree had been sparking or on fire for about 20 minutes when I decided to film it. Eleven seconds later, I caught the moment that gave me the push I needed to finally buy those velas de santos I'd been putting in my cart then back on the shelves of Price Choppers for years.

Like most things Catholic, they really tie the freezing, dark and desolate room together.