Pandora's Box

At burlesque class tonight, we added a flash paper toss to a routine we've been practicing for weeks. My level of enthusiasm incited a newfound fear that I may be a closet pyromaniac (kidding).

Fighting years of lessons in "Don't touch that! It's hot!" by holding flaming tissue paper in my bare hands was reminiscent of when I learned how to eat fire. Back then, I walked away from my fire-eating lesson with a hoarse voice secondary to scorched and soot-laden vocal chords. Tonight, I left the flame throwing dance lesson instead with a shortened chunk of hair - the tips of which are now curly and continuously crumbling as I roll them between my fingers. I think I'd be a danger to myself if I truly were a pyromaniac.