Not long ago, I found myself at a wedding reception where guests received little votive candles as a gift. There was an abundance of extras, and I found myself (like many of the other guests) bringing home more than a few.
So these candles were sitting on top of the rather large (and completely useless) mantle in my living room. (The one over the gas fireplace that's been capped off, painted over, and had a wooden floor installed into it) Female companionship dictated that candles must be lit. So they were. After she'd removed herself from the candles, I found them to be more of a liability so long as they were lit. So I go down the line, puffing them out. One at a time. *POOF* out *POOF* out, etc, until the last one. *POOF*. Still lit. *POOF!* Still lit. So I go for the gusto with a blast of air that would make a compressor hide in shame. Just as quickly, I realized that it was a candle in a shot glass, not on a stick. Wax melts, but has nowhere to go. This runny liquid wax sat in a pool with a little flame atop the whole time. Such a blast of air at it felt dictated that not only must the flame depart, but so must the wax.
It didn't burn my face, no. I just had a hard time explaining the dry wax in my eyebrows a few minutes later.
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