Reeking tealights

If there's one thing every home needs, it's an orb.

Preferably one that emits the odor of peppermint ginger cranberry spice. Or at least that's the opinion of the in-home shoppping consultant whose party I attended all unawares on Friday. I went for the sense of bourgeois (cripes, I don't even know how to spell that) extravaganza that attends all such events wherein ladies congregate to make considered purchases, all so their friend can receive a porcelain light-up Santa. And for the wine. Oh, and the cheese ball.

The in-home consultant tried to get me to buy two paintings that had saddles and spurs on them. Then she moved on to the red-feather Christmas tree for my "foyer" (if she could see my "foyer," in all its 1960s lineoleum glory, she probably would have shown me a Swiffer or a blow torch). Undaunted by my clear lack of holiday spirit, she moved over to the "show" table, whereon perched a sconce. Did I have a sconce? Did I like this sconce? She had it in a variety of finishes, including nickle. If I didn't like this sconce, she had several others. A sconce was such a modern touch, after all. "Well, if by modern you mean "around since the dawn of time," I thought to myself. And then I realized that I'd said it out loud. Cheeseballs can do that to a person, make them lose control of their faculties.

In the car on the way home, I had to roll down all the windows, despite the fact that it was midnight and winter. I just had such a blistering headache from all the candle fumes. I couldn't shake it. When I got home, I discovered that the consultant had slipped an unwrapped reeking tea light in my coat pocket. Revenge? I believe so. Oh, I believe so.

Should have bought the sconce.