The other day, I was shamed by the single birthday candle left flickering in the wake of my mighty blow. Twinkling on, radiantly rebelling against my exhale that had silenced its 30 fiery friends.
Dancing around my birthday cake. Mocking me: “Look who’s not gonna get her birthday wish now. Mwah-ha-ha-ha.” (That’s how candles laugh, you know.)
“Blow again,” my friend said. The disappointment on my face was not lost on her. I let out a second forced breath and snuffed out the last birthday candle. Not that it mattered.
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