This has to be the funniest e-mail I've ever received from my parents:

Ok, get this, your father managed to set himself on fire last night.

I had to work until 8 p.m. last night, so he was coming to pick me up. He had Rusty in the truck (of course) and was dressed in his usual shorts and tee shirt topped off with his robe and slippers. Just setting the scene.

Right around the corner, at the stop sign, a girl had stalled her car. He stopped to see if she needed help. He told her he had to pick me up, but would be right back. He then set out a flare.

You know what's coming.

He said the girl lunged at him, saying "You're on fire!" and slapping at his chest. Now he's got a hole bigger than a quarter burned through his robe and a slightly singed tee shirt. Not surprisingly, she was gone by the time we got back. (Can't you just hear the story she told?)

He was offended when I snickered. I really think this tops me pinching my fingers in the garage door.

Mom