AM I DEAD YET

I need you to open Google Maps. Locate your nearest mall. Get in your car. Drive to Yankee Candle.

Past the seasonal pumpkin display, near the back of the store, you will find a trash pile Man Candle section. You will see candles called MMM, Bacon!. Riding Mower. Man Town. (I’m not kidding. Man Town.) Stay strong. Not in this section, but likely very near this section, you will find a candle called Mountain Lodge.

Hold this jar in your hands like a talisman. Close your eyes and picture a man.

I want to be clear: I’m not talking about a Hugh Dancy. Or an Andrew Garfield, a Ben Whishaw, even a Tom Hiddleston. This exercise requires someone in the Chris Evans weight class. The Richard Armitage department. Someone with smile lines around his eyes who could chop the cedar for your bower with his own hands, strangle an alpha wolf, carry you home when you sprain your ankle in the woods, bench press your entire body. Picture this man in your mountain home with a full beard, a slightly grimy white henley, a fond half smile he reserves only for you. Now open the lid and smell Mountain Lodge.

Steady yourself on the man candle display. Give yourself a second. No, you’re not wrong. Yes, the Yankee Candle Company has just eliminated the need for men. This medium tumbler Mountain Lodge candle jar is now your boyfriend. The Yankee Candle Company has effectively replaced the need for contact with the male half of our species with a compact and clean-burning candle in a jar.

“Do you like this one?” the cashier asked, ringing me up. “Every man should be required by law to smell like what this candle smells like,” I replied intensely. “That’ll be $12.01,” she said.

The trouble is that nearest Yankee Candle Company store was a bit of a trek, and my schedule tended to prohibit this olfactory adventure.

So for the last few weeks, as I’d scroll my Tumblr dash and look at images of attractive manly men, I’d sigh and wistfully think, if only I could engage another sense with this image. If only I could I could truly fathom the ideal fragrance of this man.

And then this happened.

And I knew.

I knew whatever was happening, I needed to get to a Yankee Candle Company. The scent of Mountain Lodge would transport me instantly to this scene. The aroma of this infamous candle could make me live out a self-insertion Avengers fanfic.

So I got in my car, made the drive, and located the Yankee Candle Company.  The store was crowded with holiday shoppers. My nose was immediately assaulted by hundreds of warring scents.  

I battled through the sea of humanity and the Angel Wings-Merry Marshmallow-Magical Frosted Forest assault, buoyed on by my need to understand what Steve Rogers ripping a log in half with his bare hands smelled like.

I waded toward the back of the store, only to discover the man candle section seems to have been discontinued. What was I going to steady myself on, once I found my scented gateway to hanging out with the Avengers on Hawkeye’s farm? I felt lost, adrift, unable to find my bearings amid Soft Blanket-Fluffy Towels-Home Sweet Home.

And then… rising from the “Fresh” display, there it was.

Mountain Lodge.

It was the moment of truth. What would it be like to smell this infamous candle?

I opened the lid. I took a deep breath.

And I giggled.

Ah yes.  This was it.  This gentle, pleasantly masculine fragrance, in fact, reduced me to what I’d probably do in the actual presence of Chris Evans: giggle like an idiot.

The smell makes me smile, makes me laugh, makes me gently swoon: all reactions that, indeed, can be elicited by an ideal man. I can barely handle the true power of Mountain Lodge.

Several months have passed since this discovery. I have regaled friends with the saga, and after hearing of it, they, too, felt the burning need to smell the candle.  One by one, we have all become Mountain Lodge converts. In times of need, this candle is our refuge. Our group has developed escapist superpowers, infused by the Yankee Candle Company. 

THE CANDLE, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND.  

“Oh, that’s. Um. That’s probably because of the tumblr post going around?” she knew Yankee Candle did social media but wasn’t familiar with the specific post. So I gave her a brief summary of it, slowly getting a bit more embarrassed. If she judged me she didn’t show it, laughing in a friendly manner and saying she’d have to look it up. “Yes,” I said. “It’s very convincing.” 

Never have I been so glad to be proven wrong.

After finding this post for the second time in less than a month, and with my birthday being yesterday (and therefore I had the extra money to spare), I figured it was fate for me to actually drive the short 7 miles to my nearest Yankee Candle and see what all the fuss was about.

When I reached the store, I entered with a mission. I was going to find this candle. I was going to see for myself if it truly lived up to its tumblr reputation.

The sweet blonde lady at the register didn’t even get the chance to ask me if I was looking for anything in particular when I found it. Under the “Home” section of the quaint little store was the beautiful warm brown of this candle. I smiled at the lady and told her that I found what I was looking for.

I braced myself. I pictured Chris Evans. I pictured Chris Hemsworth, even Chris Pine. I opened the lid.

I giggled. I smiled like a dork. I blushed and I swooned and this candle is the greatest creation on God’s great earth. You don’t even need to picture the buff and burly man. As soon as I smelled the candle, my thoughts immediately jumped to Brendon Urie and Patrick Stump, for I know that’s what those two glorious men smell like as well.

Friends, believe me when I say this: the Yankee Candle Company has done it. This glorious company has successfully managed to capture the essence of Your Next Boyfriend™ and put it in the form of a candle.

1) they reproduce asexually and the children are clones of each parent OR

2) Kermit and Miss Piggy are members of the same sexually dimorphic species, hence the split between their male and female children

In which Captain Amelia (left), an extra terrestrial anthropomorphic cat, had hybrid babies with Doctor Doppler (middle), an extra terrestrial anthropomorphic dog, whom also gave birth to the babies

post (YESTERDAY) it stopped at

the second Eggman

aww aren't they cute

(secret bonus: the other side of her tag)

it’s been a few weeks, I suppose we should check up on the AHSGSHGAFB?!

ajdhf.

well that’s just,,,

REXCELLENT

HELL

YES

HELL

FUCKING

YES.

Woman: “And now you want me to teach you jiu jitsu.”

Man: “If you don’t mind, Miss Plum.”

Plum, loud and excitedly: “IT’LL BE A PLEASURE.”

*She rips his tuxedo jacket off his shoulders, grips him aggressively, and yeets him over her shoulder in a jiu jitsu martial arts fashion*

Man: *Clasping her arms a few seconds later while she looks coyly at him* “Now, let me see. Um. Let me do it to you.”

*He appears very concentrated, the camera shifts to her soft smile and romantic music begins to play, accentuating a mood that he is NOT picking up on*

“Now, let me see first of all I, um,- I pull this down.” *He pulls her cardigan off her shoulders, her collarbone now exposed and she likes it that way, she looks very obviously at his lips, like this lady has absolutely zero chill*

“Now I do this!” *He jilts her shoulders into them so their faces are centimeters away, she looks like she would like to eat his face and he is still very concentrated but in a giddy boy way*

Him: “Then I hold you close!”

Plum: “Closer.”

Him, confuzzled: “I beg your pardon?”

Plum: “Closer!! Close as you can!” *She is mentally having sex already*

Him: “Oh, yes.” *He searches her eyes for direction*

Him: “Now what do I do?”

*Miss Plum is absolutely beaming*

Plum: “Don’t you know?”

*She wants him to do things to her and he stands there mouth agape. You can see his one braincell struggling visibly in his hollow brain as realization of the century is dangling in front of him. He’s about to realize and then*

Him: “Of course! Now I apply the leverage!” *And he yeets her on to the floor*

*The music swells and fades, telling the audience that this man’s one braincell has failed him. Himbo of the century.*