Yesterday afternoon at a local bookstore, I stood and watched a woman bring every candle on the display table individually up to her nose, take a deep inhale and, each time, shake her head in disapproval.
“Those are pretty candles,” I said, passing by on the other side. “Not finding anything good?”
“They look pretty,” she replied. “but they don’t smell very good. You’ve got to find the right one.”
“Oh, I can’t really tell much of a difference, I guess. I, uh… Wow, you’re going to smell each one? They’re all the same, aren’t they?”
“They look the same, but you never know when you’ll find that special one.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I just left her to the table and her quest for the elusive, sweet-smelling candle.
I have to say, I admired her tenacity, but couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for her. Smelling the same kind of candle over and over again and expecting a different scent. Isn’t that the definition of insanity?
Hey, knock yourself out, my dear. Smell your way to the baby Jesus! It’s Christmas time after all, and who am I to say nay to a possible Christmas miracle?