I had a lovely surprise phone call from one of my guardian angels on Sunday, during which I folded laundry and cleaned the bathroom and put away the dishes because I can’t let myself live in semi-squallor anymore (and I have PMS). We finally had to say goodbye so that I could get back to my Solaris edit and Bear could get back to his life of crime.
And as I sat down for a long day of computer work, I thought — you know what? I should light my new homemade “peace & happiness” candle that I bought at the lovely pagan festival on Saturday. That would be nice.
So I unwrapped the little spell, put it in a votive jar, and lit the wick.
About five minutes later the rest of the candle caught and burned like a house on fire. (Thank goodness I had put it in that votive jar, and was sitting right there, or it might have been MY house on fire.) It was mesmerizing and made me laugh hysterically.
Only *I* could explode a friggin’ peace & happiness candle.
The irony alone was worth the five bucks.