Allow me to share a story with you. Back when I was 14, my family lost power for two weeks. Losing power was not all that uncommon in rural Virginia, but a full two weeks was quite a lengthy amount of time. Added to that, the power outage was rather untimely, spanning across both Christmas and New Year’s. On the positive side, this brought a lot of family bonding, as we spent days playing board games by candlelight. One afternoon, I was playing some board game (I don’t remember which one, but it involved dice) with my brother, aunt, and two of my first cousins. When it was my brother’s turn, he rolled the dice and inadvertently caught the sleeve of his sweatshirt on fire.
The rest of my family tried to help in whatever capacity they could. I, however, straight up panicked. I just started yelling “Ahhhh! Ahhhh! Ahhhh!” over and over again. It was not my finest moment.
I tell you this story not to say that I’m bad to have in a crisis situation. Because I am actually quite useful in these. This same family–myself included–had fought off an armed robber with cool heads (true story). I’m actually quite handy to have around if, say, you’re pregnant, or stuck in some other type of emergency (cf. armed robbery incident above). However, I don’t do well with fires. Like the Monster in Frankenstein, I understand that flame can bring comfort and warmth, but can also destroy and kill. I may also be the first female ever to compare herself favorably to the monster in Frankenstein.