C'mon baby, light my fire

Each morning, when Hubs drives the E-man to daycare, he goes past a fire station. And each morning, the E-man dons a plastic fire hat and rolls down the window so he can better gawk at those big shiny trucks.

Of course, I, too, have been known to roll down my window while passing the station, but only when the firefighters are out washing said trucks.

Shirtless.

ahem

A few months ago, when the kids and I arrived at the grocery store, the E-man was delighted by the presence of two fire trucks parked near the store's entrance. His mommy also was delighted.

By the presence of several attractive firemen.

Since I have no problem parlaying my children's obsessions into useful tactics for my own ... well ... obsessions ... we stopped by the trucks on the way out.

"Here," I said, shoving some money into Tootie's hand. "Go put that in the fireman's boot."

E-man, meanwhile, stood in front of one of the trucks, slack-jawed. I, too, was rendered awestruck — not by the trucks, but by the masculine forearms attached to the man holding the boot.

"Would you like to see the truck?" asked the Bearer of Masculine Forearms, addressing my little boy. He reached for the E-man's hand and led him toward the truck.

All together now — awwww....

I watched, misty-eyed, as the pair walked off. And repeated silently to myself, Do not stare at the fireman's ass ... do not stare at the fireman's ass...

My friend Amy has a similar reaction to firemen. So it was with great pride and joy that, when she got stuck in the elevator here at work, I summoned the fire department.

(This was after some serious finagling with the editor on duty, who contended that we were supposed to call the elevator serviceman — a sweet, stooped man of about 90 years — in times of emergency.)

But I persevered and I won. After calling 911, I dialed Amy's cell phone.

"Guess what?!" I shrieked. "I ordered some firefighters for you! You can thank me later."

And indeed, it was a dreamlike moment when the firemen pried open the doors and extended a hand to help Amy emerge. The moment was, unfortunately, somewhat ruined by the presence of an overly zealous newsroom photographer who decided to document the rescue and insisted on blocking everyone's (my) view. Still...

In a few weeks, the E-man will be moving to a new daycare. The fire station will no longer be part of his morning route. He will, I'm sure, mourn the daily sightings, as will I, particularly on truck-washing day.

The E-man will hopefully, however, be consoled by his new toy fire truck, provided by his granddaddy. And I will be consoled by the thought that no fireman, here or elsewhere, clothed or shirtless, could possibly be any cuter than this guy.