A Fashion Disaster Involving a Lighter

The phrase fashion disasters calls to mind many things: Britney Spears and her infamous shaved head debacle; Janet Jackson and her "Super Bowl surprise;" or how about Dennis Rodman's "wedding dress" or Bjork's "swan dress." This is a story about another sort of fashion disaster altogether. This disaster involves a particular type of lighter, the kind that is refillable and comes with a lid that will allow the flame to remain lit as long as the lid is up.

Back in the late '90s it was still legal to smoke in bars and restaurants. Even if you were wearing an entire can of Aquanet on your head to keep that big hair look going on. It was autumn in Ohio and my date and I were spending our first evening out at a fancy Italian restaurant. I had my best skin tight black leather skirt on and an electric blue top. I had painted my glorious fake fingernails electric blue, just to match.

My date was decked out in a polo shirt and tight jeans and the ever present jean jacket. We ordered fried calamari to start and a lovely bottle of white wine. All went well during the first couple of courses. My date and I were enjoying some lighthearted banter and reminiscing about friends from our high school days. He had been graciously lighting my cigarettes all evening. But somewhere between the antipasto salad and the main course I decided to whip out my independent women card and light his cigarette with my fancy lighter. As soon as I saw him starting to shake one out of the pack I grabbed one of my own. I whipped my handy-dandy lighter out and proceeded to light his cigarette...and then my cigarette. Then I began to place my elegant little lighter on the crisp white tablecloth next to my wine glass. Suddenly I noticed that the flame seemed to still be going even though the lid was clearly closed. Upon closer examination I realized that my lovely blue painted fake thumbnail was actually on fire. Needless to say; I nearly panicked... but in an effort to maintain my dignity I blew out my thumb and excused myself to the bathroom, where I pulled out my nail file and filed down the burnt edge. I wonder why I never heard from him again?