We Didn't Start The Fire

Boys will be boys... and so will men.

One of the things that initially attracted me to Mr. Ex is that he embraces his inner child. And he does it alot. He enjoys loud music. He loves comedies and telling jokes. He chases his dog around the house. He stands on the back of his truck and hurls the basketball at the hoop backboard (I'm guessing to knock the entire thing over?).
That's not to say he isn't a responsible and capable adult -- he just likes to kick back and have a good time.

I'm down with Mr. Ex's agenda as I too have some maturity issues so to speak. I prefer Hannah Montana over Anderson Cooper. I like loud music. I like comedies. I like to chase my dog around the house. And if given the opportunity, I too would hurl a basketball at a stationary object, like say, my ex-husband.

Anyhow, it was all fun and games the night before last as we were celebrating the  Super Bowl festivities. It had been a long weekend, as he had his two kids and I had my two kids.
Two plus two makes four which makes for a helluva a lot of work. But we'll save that conversation for another day. 

Needless to say, by Sunday night, we were kiddie-free. Despite the warm temperatures, Mr. Ex decided he'd like to get a blaze going in the firepit. He grabs a couple of logs from inside the house and throws them in the pit. Using one of those uber-lighters, he goes to ignite the blaze. It was a slow process. In fact, I started to wonder if I should call it a night. Just watching him was exhausting. Mr. Ex made it clear early on that he'd stop at nothing to get this fire going.

"Maybe we can toss the lighter in," I suggested.

"That would be a bad idea. It would probably explode and you'd get hit by lighter shrapnel," he told me. I trusted him. By the looks of things, it appeared Mr. Ex had been schooled by the Smokey the Bear Fire Starting Academy... or so I thought.