A man in a Uniform

I admit it.  I have a thing for men in uniforms.  Mostly, Navy whites.  I am a sucker for a Naval officer in his dress whites or even just his whites, okay, or his blues...  This tends to be the only uniform that gets me though.  I like men in just about anything when it comes down to brass tacks. 

 

But some women really like fire fighters.  The men who go out to save the world from the flames and the disasters.  The first on the scene.  .  These are the guys that carry 50 plus pounds of equipment to perform their jobs to the best of their ability.  They are the first line; the first responders.  They are heroes. 

 

On Saturday morning, they were my daughter's heroes.  They were big.  There were 8 of them.  They were in full turn outs in my living room.  Let me just tell you, my house is not big enough for 8 grown men - especially when those men are prepared to fight a fire. 

 

How did these guys find their way into my living room...?

 

Picture it, a very rainy Saturday morning in Northern Virginia.  Hanna has just arrived to give us the rain that we desperately need.  Up to 9 inches will fall throughout the day.  It is gray outside and very wet.  My windows are open as the wind has yet to start blowing.  We have ten minutes before we have to leave for ballet. 

 

I am upstairs taking care of a few things when, suddenly, without warning, the smoke detectors upstairs start sounding.  The shrill sound bounces from room to room as the electric pulse hits each.  This was not the beeping of a low battery, but one that demanded attention, immediately.  Not an emergency, just a demand. 

 

I am stunned.  What is happening?  I know that it isn't a weak battery.  perhaps the high humidity?  I return to the Diva's room and turned on the fan.  No change. 

 

I walked downstairs to check the oven, stove, and sniff for smoke. 

 

Nothing.  The alarms downstairs aren't shrieking, just those upstairs. 

 

I returned upstairs to look at the alarms.  Nothing has changed.  They are still just out of step from one another, nearly sounding in unison but not quite. 

 

I called the Diva's dad... okay, I am not panicked but honestly, I know nothing about smoke alarms and can't reach them anyway (the downfall of high ceilings).  His voicemail picks up so, I leave a message and consider my other options. 

 

Perhaps I should ask a neighbor?  But what if it is really a fire?  What if there is a spark or something happening in the ceiling upstairs? 

 

So I found the number for the fire station, not 911 because I know that this isn't an emergency.  I figured that they would tell me to check this or that, no big deal.  The dispatcher says that she will "send someone" out to check.  I figured she meant exactly what she said "someone."  That is what I thought until I heard the sirens, plural.  Not just one truck but two pulled up outside.  

 

Was I standing outside, in the rain, with the Diva as we were probably supposed to have done - executing our emergency escape plan? 

 

No, of course not.  I was bare foot in shorts and tank attempting to get ready to go to ballet and meeting the guys at the front door. 

 

Was I in shock and panicking with all the noise and the idea that my house might be on fire? 

 

Not at all.  I was stunned that they sent these 8 guys to fight a non-fire.  (I understand why they did but...)

 

As it happens, the smoke detector in my living room decided to die Saturday morning.  Faulty smoke detector downstairs; downstairs where none of the alarms were sounding.  

 

After informing me that I need to buy a new smoke detector, they loaded themselves back into the trucks and off they went.  The Diva and I weren't far behind them as we raced through the rain to ballet.  We discussed the events as we walked.  The Diva went from a worried little girl to "Next time you can stand downstairs with the stuff and I will go up with the guys!"

 

"Those guys probably recognized us,"  I told her cringing that they saw my house in the disarray that it is.

"No they didn't" she said

"Oh, they probably thought, 'there's that sexy woman and her sexy daughter' as they see us all the time walking around the area."

 

"Mamma, you aren't sexy!"  (And that ended the conversation,;because, honestly, how can a mom respond to that?)

 

(And I wonder if that is what those fire fighters thought!)