In the Shang home, leftovers are stored in one of two ways. The first is neatly. And the second is, shall we say, creatively. This tends to be the more hazardous method as containers of consolidated cuisine teeter precariously upon each other – waiting, preparing to plummet upon the next unsuspecting soul who opens the chill doors. Whether this transpires depends upon which of the four children has been tasked as the Please-put-this-in-the-fridge-er. (Since neither Judy-tudy nor I were at home this Christmas, we can probably assume that the latter philosophy of systematization was executed.)
This year, I have an unusual leftover dilemma that is not of the food sort. You see, as the season of advent arrived, I realized that I needed candles and declared my intent to purchase some at my beloved IKEA (which is a mere ten-minute walk from my flat.) I was subsequently warned that those Swedish-made wax and wick were not worth procuring (unlike the delicious meatballs with Lingonberry jam, but I digress) as they lack a certain longevity that the standard candle ought to have. I heeded that sound advice and, accordingly, bought extra.
Oddly enough, the warnings and my foresight were highly unnecessary in this case as Christmas is over and I find myself with a copious cache of sacred candles. What am I to do with them now? I can think of only one solution: make s’mores.
(Do you hear the heresy meter twitching? I don’t.)