I seem to be quite good at melting things. This isn't even a childhood story, this is something that just happened the other day.
I had just haphazardly attached together some scraps of material so that it vaguely resembled a sleeve cuff; a sewing sample for my fashion course. It looked horrible. "Pressing fixes everything," I said, optimistically, and I went to switch on the iron. Being incredibly lazy, I couldn't be arsed to get the ironing board out. I decided I'd just iron on the bed, it was relatively flat and sort of firmish - what could possibly go wrong?
Nothing actually went wrong at that point, except for the fact that the sewing sample refused to be ironed on account of the squishiness of the bed. I was still too lazy to get the ironing board out, despite the fact that it was roughly 4 metres away in a nearby cupboard, so I just transferred the fabric and the iron to the nearby floor. The carpet, I figured, was probably wool, which wouldn't melt. The mistake here was putting my trust into one of the many cheap pieces of tat that came with the house. This is the house that had a newspaper from 1953 and a dead bird in the fireplace, concealed only by a plywood panel (in my bedroom, might I add). This is the house that had miniature stalactites dangling coquettishly from the plumbing pipes, which had simply been hammered over at the ends to (attempt to) prevent water from leaking out of them.
This is the house with the nylon carpets.
The sewing sample was ironed, but as I pulled the iron away, I noticed that some carpet fibre came with it. The carpet fibre looked longer, stringier and more stuck to the iron than I had anticipated. The carpet felt harder, crustier and generally less carpet-like than I had anticipated, too. Oops. Well, that was that. Thankfully, it's a minging old carpet anyway.
The carpet was not the first thing I have melted. A couple of years back, I got a new computer (I have a different new computer now, making the one in the story an old computer, but for the purposes of this tale imagine that it's shiny, novel and very exciting). The monitor was slightly wider than I was used to and I struggled to arrange the junk on my desk to fit it in. I ended up settling my lamp on the left of the monitor. I often have the lamp on, because light seems to not actually come through the window of this room - it gets to the glass, then stops. Normally, having this lamp on wouldn't cause a problem. Well, it didn't before, anyway.
My Dad wandered into the room, and asked me what the funny smell was. I hadn't been able to smell anything, despite the fact that the air I was breathing in was a mixture of toxic plastic fumes from the monitor, which was slowly and cheerfully melting in one corner, thanks to the careless placement of my desk lamp. Needless to say, I got into fairly deep shit for that one, and I was forced to endure the presence of a shiny new melted blob in the corner of my shiny new monitor for a few years to come.