Gifts were exchanged at work this year for Christmas and I both gave and received candles. I just love candles. My husband loves burning them to the ground. He saw the giftwrapping on the stairs and said, “What did you get?” I showed him the big tasty candle I had just gotten from Anthropologie – three wicks and a delicious smell. I woke up this morning to find it half burned down in the kitchen. “Smells like a French whore,” he said, happily. So our whole house smells like an expensive whore house, the expensive because I know how much that candle cost, and the whore house because my husband is never happier than when he is burning up my candles and being inappropriate. I didn’t exactly get to enjoy the ambience of my candle, since it was half gone in the kitchen when I woke up, but I should have known better than to show it to him in the first place. Later he will do this excavating thing that he does with candles when he thinks they need rejuvenating and he will dig it and claw it and make it all ugly. There will be no stopping him. My husband needs to be kept away from candles. Especially at Christmas.