The story I’m going to tell you is happening back in 2009 when I was dating Matt. I prepared a romantic evening, with rose petals on the bed, champagne and scented candles for intimacy.
Matt was a bit of a country boy, with not a lot much of a touch with city life. The first thing he said when he entered my apartment and saw the burning candles was “Oh my god, who died??” Needless to say, he couldn’t understand why I was laughing so hard, and it took me more than five minutes to actually stop laughing and tell her that no, nobody died, and that we were in for a relaxing evening.
Little did I know that the walking disaster aka Matt was about to set my place on fire.
After watching a movie, we went to the balcony for a cigarette. Both of us were smokers, but my (and the landlord’s) rule was no smoking inside. Se took cigs from my purse and left it on the table in the living room, where the candles were still burning. We spent a bit over an hour outside – it was a hot summer night, we were chatting, laughing and got a bit boozed up with that bottle of champagne. When I went inside… hell was about to unleash. The plastic on the side of the purse had melted, so the purse had shifted its center of gravity and fell on the floor, taking one candle along with it. The floor was covered by a woolen rug that was slowly catching fire.
Luckily I got there in time. The smoke was almost unbearable, I started choking the moment I got in. I quickly saw where it was coming from, took the purse by the hangers that weren’t burning and threw it out the window, while yelling at Matt to get him to help me. I ran to the kitchen, got a bucket of water and spilled it on my expensive rug, while still yapping at him for ruining my “expensive” purse that hadn’t cost more than $25 at a flea market.
The result? The damaged wooden floor cost me a little over $1,000 to replace, and the rug, which a gift from my late grandmother, was totally wrecked. I was fuming – literally, hehe – but I took the blow. He offered to pay me for the damage, but I refused politely.
Later on (I believe it was much after we broke up, but that’s irrelevant) I found these candles that use an electrical light bulb to heat the wax, so there’s no fire and no risk of burning down the house. I can’t seem to remember what they were called. They are a bit pricier than regular candles, but the safety they offer is well worth it. I’ll follow up about them in another article if I remember what the brand name was.