Lindsey Lohan - is that you?

My sister just called me at work. 

I really should screen my calls.

(I've taken the liberty to enter pauses between words even though, in reality, there are none in Summer-speak)

"Hey - thanks for bringing me those tampons when I needed them the other night.  But I didn't read the directions - were the flames supposed to shoot out before or after insertion?" 

"Huh?"  I had no clue what she was talking about. With Summer - that's not an odd thing.

"Well, I was fine until I left the bathroom and started walking around and - it was like instant fire!" 

"Why?  What happened?"  It's awell-documented  fact that I have an irrational fear of "involved" feminine products.  NOW I had to worry about them burning, too?!

"Turns out they were really, overly scented - I couldn't get it out fast enough!  The more my legs rubbed together as I ran for the bathroom - I thought I was going to burst into flames!"

By this point, I've laid my head on my desk and am weeping with laughter.  One of the partners here at Lawyerman, Lawyerman, and Lawyerman was settled in the large conference room not twenty feet away from my desk and I was sure he could here my gargling. 

"You're a - a -" I stop and wipe my eyes, "YOU'RE A FIRECROTCH!"  By this point I'm openly cackling when my Office Manager saunters by with a bewildered look on her overly made up face. 

The moral of this post is: Don't buy scented tampons.  Unless you want to make your sister's coochie spontaneaously combust.  tee hee.       

         +  = FIRECROTCH!