This one time...I kind of blew up.

So, I had this really old 1920's era Magic Chef stove. Looks really cool...came with the house. No pilot light. Every time you want to turn on the oven, you need a match.

No problem. Easy as pie. Well, fire pie anyway, which sounds kind of tasty right about now...but I digress

My girlfriend was scared to use the oven. Very scared. Some might even use a better adjective and tell me that saying "very scared" isn't the way to get the best bang for my buck from the English language. Oh crap...there I go digressing again. Back to the story...

In order to show my girlfriend how easy it is to use a lighter to light a stove, I explain the process. I then follow up and demonstrate. See...easy as pie. Mmm...fire pie.

"Now you do it", I say, handing her the lighter.

Step one, turn on the gas.

Step two, click the lighter stick thing (the long lighter designed for starting grills).

Step three, try to remember that you have to hold down the safety like I showed you in order to get it to spark.

Step four, remember that you should have lit the flame BEFORE turning on the gas.

Step five...look worried and confused.

Step six, let experienced one grab the lighter frantically, and expediently light it before the whole room fills with gas.

Step seven...small fireball. Boom. Fire pie!

While the smell of freshly singed arm hair still lingers in the air, I start to chuckle at how ridiculous the situation is, and the lady-unit enters freak-out mode.

And that's the most on fire I care to be.