Last night, I got home and found that Esteban would not be home until after I was in bed. I proceeded to make a turkey breast for the next day’s dinner, as it takes something like three hours to cook and we generally prefer to eat earlier than 9:00 pm.
Then I lit my scented candle and proceeded to do wifely things like laundry, cat feeding, lounging around in my adorable pink flowered boxer shorts and not so adorable but equally as comfortable Green Bay Packers t-shirt and download illegal music from the web.
My current jarred candle is Peanut Butter Cookies, which would normally be too precious for me to bear, but one whiff and I was drooling. Esteban declared that it was too strong awhile back, so I only burn it when he’s not home. I actually dislike the fact that I adore the countrified jar candle thing so much, but I take harbor in knowing that I’m a picky snit about the scents. My favorite scent right now, aside from the Peanut Butter Cookies, is one that smells like an autumn apple orchard’ slightly overripe and fermenting. I’m not one for the scents of flowers or ‘Bayberry’ whatever the hell that is and I distrust candles which are named for intangibles, like ‘Rain’ or ‘Comfort’. Who are they to tell me what ‘Comfort’ smells like? To me, it smells like freshly laundered cotton sheets, which have been line-dried in my great-grandmother’s backyard’ it certainly doesn’t smell like cinnamon-scented anus, as the candlemakers would have one believe.
Esteban came home unexpectedly early (8:00 pm), so I blew out my candle and continued about my domestic route. He then plopped onto the couch and grumped at me for a)leaving the light on in the basement when I did the laundry b)watching a stupid television show and c) the way I got up out of a chair.
He then inquired ‘Are you cooking something?’
‘Yes. A turkey breast.’
‘Something else?’
‘No, just a turkey breast.’
‘At this time of night?’
‘It’s for tomorrow night.’
‘Oh, I could have sworn it smelled like you were making cookies.’
I was puzzled for a minute and then realized that he smelled the yummy candle I had been burning, which made him even grumpier because there were no warm cookies to be had. I went into the kitchen and started to compile the elements of peanut butter cookie dough, but then I stopped myself. Why the heck was I making Mr. Grouchy Pants cookies? After he had been all snotty? No way, mister. Not this liberated woman! Instead I went downstairs and proceeded to wash a load of his dirty laundry and the towels that he had left soggy on the bathroom floor.
Yeah. I’m a BAD ASS FEMINIST!
Someday, I swear, the internal battle going on between Gloria Steinem and June Cleaver will be the end of me.
My pregnant and extremely healthy friend Kathi succumbed to the lure of an Oscar Mayer Lunchable in the cafeteria vending machine this morning. This is somewhat shocking because she’s really really healthy and hasn’t even eaten anything sweet since 1989 (well, except for fruit, but you get the picture). Even I, with my intense addiction to Diet Coke and Godiva chocolates, will not touch a Lunchable. They’re just attractively packaged evil.
Back to candle scents. All of the candle scents are so obviously marketed toward women. I suppose that’s why I dislike the fact that I like them so much’ I hate to be a fulfilling a demographic.
I could probably make a lot of money marketing scented candles to men, with manly scents and cool masculine containers. Scents like ‘Tire Store’ and ‘Pipe Tobacco’ would be big sellers. Maybe ‘Sawdust’, ‘Leather’, ‘New Jaguar’ and ‘WD-40’ as well.
Maybe I’d explore a few scent mixtures, like ‘After Party’ which would be a subtle blend of Stale Beer and Ashtray with just a hint of Sex and Vomit.
I think I’d call them “Mandles”. It smells like a winner.
