(This is not an abnormal conversation starter in my household.)
“Uhmmm…?” he replied.
I raised my brow at this non-response.
“Is this for your blog?” he asks.
(Astute, he is.)
“Yes.”
“…oh.”
:: pause ::
“I won’t burn you,” I promise.
“Okay then.”
That was last weekend.
So today we went shopping. Which might have been a slightly irrational proposition given that I hate people-ing, especially after Thanksgiving, but it was surprisingly un-horrible. Besides, most folks who frequent my favorite sex shop can’t be arsed about holiday shopping quite yet. I mean, I know *I* can’t. They don’t even have their real sales until mid-December.
Which means it was with considerable maneuvering room and relative ease that we found these massage oil candles:
I bought two – one scented in ‘Zenitude’ (no clue what that means, exactly, but think ‘fresh’) and another in au chocolat.
I read the instructions (I do that occasionally ~ ssshhhh, don’t tell anyone), which recommended burning the wick for 20 minutes before proceeding.
I’m actually quite good at math, and I can count to twenty (as well as read a clock)…
BUT
…there was a whole “Come look at these Christmas lights and give me your opinion” thing that happened in between the lighting of the candle and its intended use that took up a good half hour. Because, Smotch.
The good news: the wax didn’t get over-hot during the excess futzing-about time.
The not-so-good news: the mood didn’t get over-hot during the excess futzing-about time.
Ahem.
Anywhoo…
On with the show!
