This is a story from 2003. It's a story about the time when our apartment did not blow up.
John and I had subletted our apartment for a summer and when we returned home we noticed it smelled...different. It was not necessarily a bad smell, it just wasn't our smell. It didn't smell like us. So I immediately set to work lighting candles, opening windows, and waving doors open and shut to try to regain the Drury scent (whatever that might be).
As I paused to sniff the air yet again, I realized there was something familiar to the smell. Something was burning.
I did a quick glance around the apartment to make sure there were not any open flames. While I did not see any open flames, I noticed that the smell seemed to be considerably stronger in the kitchen. I knelt beside an outlet, took a whiff, and jumped back by the strong burning smell I had taken in. I quickly walked over to another outlet nearby, took a sniff, and encountered the same burning smell. I went from outlet to outlet in our 400 square foot apartment, each time finding a strong burning smell.
I hurried into the bathroom, smelled the outlet, and reached to grab John a towel (he was in the shower...he didn't know our apartment was about to blow up). As I opened my mouth to tell him we had to leave I caught a look at my reflection in the mirror...I was missing a rather large chunk of my hair.
Apparently, while lighting candles I managed to light my head on fire. And every time I knelt down to smell an outlet the singed endings of my hair were coming into my line of smell.
That's my story.