Not being a candle veteran myself, it took me about twenty switches of the lighter before I got a flame, and another three episodes of the like before I got it to stay ignited long enough to catch the candle wick. It’s a small pink candle that I had purchased at the antique mall primarily because it smelled like cake. I set it in a tiny glass jar that did little to deflect the air conditioning and instead created a tantalizing fire-like flicker against the dark.
I began to wonder if this would not evoke romance so much as panic in my husband, as I had the lights dim and the only thing he would see on his walk to the room was flickering from through the window. It was an attempt to be romantic. I even had music on.
When he finally found me (I would have likely burned if it had been a fire), I was tired and had been wearing ridiculous heels for over an hour. When I decided it was lights out for us. I lean directly over the candle and blow a solid gust of air. As it turns out, this is not how you put out a candle. Instantly, my skin is burning (let’s just say I wasn’t wearing flannel pajamas), my hair is knotted with pink bulbs, the night stand is coated, the carpet is melted, the wall has been repainted, the bed sheets are soiled. I have killed the mood.
How is my lot in love so predictable? I spent three days and about 6 shampoos trying to get wax balls out of my hair, which ended up looking like a bad case of lice. Needless to say, I’ve resorted to more natural avenues for setting the mood.