Nee naw nee naw. What’s that noise you ask? Why it’s the sound of the fire truck of course.

Or The Husband Truck as I like to call it.

And the fire station? The Husband House obviously!

And no, I’m not joking.

This *may* be me. It *may* be during what I like to refer to as The Fire House Tour of Lower Manhattan Summer 2009. Not to be confused with The Fire House Tour of Lower Manhattan Winter 2006. Oh, no.

I *may* have chopped my sister out of the photo. You know, to protect the innocent.

I *may* love this next photo just a little (too much).

I *may* still dream of being rescued (but not in a real life fire situation obviously) by a big strong fire man.

Now, before the sisterhood comes around to smack me around and talk about burning bras and all that women have done before us, I get it. And I appreciate it. My life would not be where it is now, with a gorgeous Bubba, had women before me not fought for the freedoms we enjoy. I am a strong and independent girl.

But it’s Friday, so let’s cut me a little slack. The movie industry has amassed a fortune on stories of girls being rescued – mostly by Princes who use way more hair product than I’ll ever own – so, for a moment I’m going to blame them on my desire to be rescued. Just sometimes. And if he rescues me, I’m happy to rescue him right back.

And fire men are [mostly] hot. Maybe they’re modern day Princes?

A girl’s allowed to dream.