I used to not use my pretty things,
I had a candle that looked exactly like a cupcake in my room for basically my entire childhood. It smelled like strawberries, it was glittery, pink and really fancy. My friends would ohh and ahh over it and ask me if it was real, whilst marveling over its beauty…in the first few years.
By the time I was eight years old it was showing signs of decay, there were white dents where it had been knocked, a thin layer of dust was imbedded into it’s sticky surface and it was decidedly less perky after a few summers on the window sill.
By the time I was twelve it was unrecognisable as either a cupcake or a candle and I still never lit it or threw it out (yes I know, but we’re not discussing my hoarding tendencies)
I don’t know why I couldn’t bear the thought of that little cupcake being used for its intended purpose; I just thought it was too precious. Just like the box of fancy paper I collected but never wrote on, or the posters from my TV Hits magazine that I kept in manila folders, because if I hung them thumbtacks would scar them with tiny rusty holes…obviously, or the puff paints that I never used in fear that the decoration I was planning on my 90210 bike pants wasn’t perfect.
Along with the candle, the fancy paper yellowed and curled, my heartthrobs were forgotten and the paints went hard in the bottle.
I’m not sure when I changed, or if it was gradual or sudden but somehow I became an adult who happily washes down her five dollar pizza with a swanky bottle of wine. And I have learned three things; one, life can be special whenever you want it to be, two, Wheat Bix taste better when eaten out of fancy china and three, I often think about that little cupcake candle.