As we sat and watched some lame movie that featured Edward Norton in corn-rows, Aimee wrestled herself from her cocoon on the couch.
"I smell fire," she said.
"What? Where?" I asked, all hot from a flood of adrenaline.
I got up from the chair and headed to the clothes dryer, which had been running the entire day. No sign of fire. I went back to the living room. Aimee was still in half-cocoon.
"Well, where is it coming from? I don't smell."
"You still see don't you?" Aimee said. She emerged from her comfy sarcophagus and tilted her head up. She walked towards the heater in the hallway.
"Oh, it's only the heater."
We spent the next five minutes in a playful argument. I tell her that I need a little help from time to time, like when asking me to find the origin of smoke. She tells me that I still can see. I tell her that blurting out that she smells "fire" might just panic me a bit. It's like telling a blind person to watch out, or a deaf person if he or she hears something strange. She laughs at me.
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7 years ago