A few years ago, my guys took me to a local restaurant to celebrate my birthday. Since my birthday is so close to Christmas, next to us was a table of women who were celebrating the holiday.
We watched as they exchanged candles – a really cool idea – and laughed and laughed and laughed together. They really had the right idea. They were celebrating Christmas in a no muss, no fuss kind of way, and they were having a great time. I had to hand it to them.
Much to my dismay, my guys let the waiter know it was my birthday, which meant I got serenaded with Happy Birthday and awarded some sort of dessert. I don’t remember what it was. How could I?
Because not long after I took the first bite, the table with the candle exchange was on fire. The ladies decided to light one or two of the candles, which lit the napkins, which lit whatever was slightly flammable – all of which they were trying to douse with sweet tea and Diet Coke.
I guess the candles worked.
Once the flames died and the smoke cleared, my guys and I laughed about it, and went on with eating whatever dessert it was.
And then one of the ladies approached our table with one of candles. “We’re sorry we almost set you on fire on your birthday,” she said. “Here’s a candle…”
I keep that candle on the breakfast bar in my kitchen. I’ve never burned it. I figure there was a reason it survived.
I smile every time I see it.