What word starts with "F" and ends with "UCK"? FIRETRUCK!

I have many strengths, including but not limited to: brand loyalty (See Pepsi, Russell Stover Chocolate Marshmallow Bunnies (blue wrapper), and Yellow Marshmallow Peep Rabbits (NOT chicks), creating inappropriate greeting cards, and harboring an alarming number of unnecessary and outdated vocabulary words (See hassock/caftan/cacophony/purloin: All of which have been the basis of family arguments under the heading of That is NOT a word. I rocked Trivia the other night when I correctly identified the word petard.)

Speaking of petard, The Mosimans (and the surrounding neighborhood--Hi Deb and Kelly!) had QUITE the explosive evening last night. There I was, curled up in my comfy chair at the witching hour, reading inspirational literature, mapping out a complicated plan of self-improvement, and reflecting upon the mysteries of the universe when suddenly there was an earth-shattering bang that shook the house. I vaulted up, grabbed a flashlight, and headed outside with the dogs to investigate if a heavy tree limb had come down onto the roof. I made it as far as the icy sidewalk when I realized I wasn't spiritually-sound enough to be ready for Armageddon. "I'm sorry I was reading smut," I prayed to the star-filled sky while promising to cleanse my literary palate with Jane Austen for awhile as I took in the giant fireball across the road. I flinched as another explosive BANG ripped through the night. I called the dogs to come in and realized that my dogs are not well-trained...AT ALL. When I finally managed to wrestle my petulant pups into the house, I raced into the bedroom for the phone. "What's going on?" Brad asked. I brought him up to date as I shakily called 911.

As I've stated...I have many strengths but staying calm and cool in an emergency is NOT one of them. I once tried to administer CPR on my father who had passed out in shock from a broken ankle. Let's just say that I'm NOT proud of the following conversation:

911: 911. What is the nature of your emergency?

Me: I'd like to report a fire, please. Well...obviously I don't mean "like"...I need to report a fire.

911: What is the location of the fire?

Me: (Mind suddenly blank): Well, s&*+...it's complicated. I'm at the intersection of H & H....but on this village end, not the other town end...but the fire is across the tracks...you know...the ones that they took up twenty years ago and now they use it as a snowmobile trail? On School Road? It's the old Archway...

911: Thank you. What is your name?

Me: (embarrassed) Amy (like I was ordering take-out pizza)

I hung up, flustered, and turned to Brad who was staring at me as though I'd lost my mind. "Did you just tell them the fire was at the cookie factory?" he asked incredulously, pointing at the sixty foot high blaze, "That's the old Agway."

Ignoring him, I pulled my boots back on and scuttled across the street to alert our neighbor. When I realized he wasn't home (found out later he was in Myrtle Beach while I was busy battling fire balls away from his property), I stood, transfixed, watching flames lick along power lines, consuming walls, and melting metal, stifling a shriek for each explosion. I returned home upon the arrival of First Responders. "Why didn't you come out?" I asked Brad. "Flying shrapnel really isn't my thing," he told me, exasperated.

When we finally went to bed, I lay there, worried. "What about hazardous chemical airborne fumes?" I asked. Brad buried his head in the pillow. "The firefighters have respirators," he assured me. "But we should prepare for death like that old couple on The Titanic." I took a deep breath, wrapping my arms around him. "I'll never let go, Brad. I'll never let go."