Mestee Blogger

Like any red-blooded American man, I like a room that smells of tropical fruit. This is why, several weeks ago, I went down to Kohl's and got myself a big 'ol candle in a jar. The scent? Pineapple Sorbet, of course.

I have a sliding door that leads into my bedroom, but because of some poor engineering, there is enough room for the door to knock back and forth when there are any windows open. If I want to sleep with the door closed and the window opened, I need to wedge something against the door so it won't make noise (this is an issue I imagine real grown-ups don't have to deal with). Now, what better place to put my new Pineapple Sorbet candle in a jar, but balanced precariously on top of the stool that I use to keep the door wedged shut?

Around midnight yesterday, the candle was burning in my room when I went downstairs to move some clothes from the washer to the dryer. Arms full of clothes (who needs laundry baskets?) I nudged the door open, rocking the stool and sending the candle on a path towards me. My instincts told me the the accident about to occur would involve hot wax, broken glass, and me holding an armful of flaming laundry. The candle gods were on my side that night, though. Instead of setting my clothes ablaze or breaking my toe, the jar landed evenly upside down on the floor, extinguishing the flame without so much as chipping the glass jar. Things like this make me not happy that I have averted disaster, but instead, curious as to how embarassing or comically tragic my next mishap will have to be in order to make up for this one.
|