Somebody call 9-9-9, a fire burning off the back porch, oh, oh...

9-9-9 is the emergency number here in Ireland.  We haven't used it yet, but we keep it close at hand.  Some of you know about my pyromaniac tendencies:  the John Deere lawnmower incident of '04, the Kirby vacuum debacle of '07, etc.  So in true 'Fire Starter' fashion I baptized our new home.  It goes a little something like this:  Last Friday Bailey's friend Jocelyn spent the night.  I got up in time to make pancakes and bacon before heading off to the quilt guild meeting.  I made bacon in the microwave on a thick newspaper and paper towels.  As Davis says, "I can see where this is going."  After the bacon cooked I was preparing to discard the newspaper and almost put it in the trash bin when that little voice inside my head said, "Denise, that might not be the best idea you've ever had."  So, I carried it out to the back rock garden and left it there.  About one minute later Jocelyn said, "Is that fire outside?"  "Why yes it is."  As if Scott had not learned anything from Mythbusters, he proceeded to pour a pitcher of water on it.  I followed with a dousing of baking soda for good measure.  And that folks ends our lesson on spontaneous combustion.