Dear Abby,

I met a nice girl the other day. Her name is Samantha. She was on the same aisle as me at the Food Lion. We were both buying soup. I accidentally ran into her cart, and I apologized, but she said it was ok. She looked at me and smiled and asked me my name. She thought it was cute that we were both were looking for soup. I said something really corny like “maybe we should make soup together” and for some reason she thought that was funny and agreed to a date. She’s really nice and pretty.

But there’s one small problem. I think she’s an arsonist.

Everything was going well on our date. We were out for coffee. The TV was on in the corner of the coffee shop and a news report came on about a recent string of suspicious residential fires and she got all excited. I kinda wondered why, but I didn’t pay it much attention. Then two policemen came in for coffee and she got nervous and made us leave.

I didn’t really think much of it at the time, but later, I took her to my house and she got really hysterical when she saw that I had a fireplace. She insisted that we light a fire. Actually, she insisted that she light a fire. She built up a big pile of wood, and even laid a few pieces of wood out from my fireplace to the carpet. I called her silly and moved all the wood back inside the fireplace. She looked disappointed, but I didn’t think much of it.

Maybe I should have gotten a clue when I said I’d go get some lighter fluid from the garage to get the fire started, and she said, “You don’t have to, I always keep some in my purse,” but I guess I just saw what I wanted to see: a girl who seemed to finally like me for me.

Anyway, she built up the fire pretty big and it seemed to be turning her on! She started kissing me and I liked it! I couldn’t help but think something wasn’t right though. I guess I sort of solved the puzzle when, in the middle of us kissing, she blurted out, “I love you so much I could just set you on fire!”

That kinda made me uncomfortable so I took her home soon after. She kept flicking the flint of her lighter the whole car ride home but she told me she didn’t smoke.

My question to you, Abby, is should I see her again? Does she like me for who I am or will I always be playing second fiddle to her love of setting things on fire? Please help, Abby—it’s starting to get hot in here.

—Hot Under The Collar in Hoboken