On Fire!

A set of circumstances gone awry led to votive candles being set and lit on the balustrade of Houston's loveliest ballroom.  I happened to be the victim of a fire that ignited my ball gown.  My precious son was at my side.  When I said, "stomp me", he did.  Fortunately, he only had to stomp my ball gown. The candles were removed before the receiving line opened, so the only casualty of the evening was a sizable hole at the bottom of my dress. 

Though my intention was not to share the news beyond those who observed the incident, news spread like quiet wildfire through the event.  The puns were prevalent -you're hot; you're on fire; you know how to spark a party...

Despite a startling beginning, the party was lovely.  My early crisis prevented a potentially wide-spread set of casualties.