At 1:30 PM, the situation escalated from ridiculous to legally actionable.
My brother-in-law, Kyle, called me. His voice was hushed, low, and laced with genuine terror. He sounded like a hostage whispering into a smuggled burner phone.
“Rupert,” he breathed. “You have to get over here. I don’t know what to do.”
“Kyle? What is happening? Did the house freeze solid?”
“Worse. She brought the outdoor propane patio heaters inside.”
I dropped the wrench I was holding. It clattered loudly against the garage floor. I stood up, my pulse spiking. “Tell me you are joking.”
“I wish I was.”
“Kyle, absolutely not. That is insane. You cannot burn liquid propane inside a sealed residential envelope.”
“I am acutely aware of the science, Rupert. I told her to turn them off.”
“And?”
“I turned them off physically. I went to the bathroom. When I came back, she had ignited them again.”
