Previously in What Your ____ Says About You: Posters and cats.
Sugar Cookie: It is deeply important to you that you be thought of as a welcoming person. You have been known to refer to your house as a “refuge,” and sometimes hope that others say the same thing about it when you are not around.
“Odor Remover”: You are not messy because you do not care about cleanliness; you are messy because the thought that you are responsible for your own environment has literally never occurred to you. It makes no difference to you. Periodically you find yourself attached to someone who takes it upon herself to clean up after you, and you are cheerfully willing to let her do so. You did not ask her to do it, but she will expect you to be grateful, although she may not say so. It will also never occur to you to thank her, or to acknowledge her, or to inquire what compels her to pick up what you leave behind. “Just don’t worry about it” is the only advice you know how to give. After she is gone, you are equally cheerful about doing nothing at all. You are never angry at anyone, but there is always someone who is angry at you, although you do not know it.
Sandalwood/Ylang-Ylang: You own an old record player that is still in excellent working condition and have nothing but disdain for people who own record players with iPhone docks.
Anything where the name of the candle gives no hint as to what it might smell like (e.g. “Cleopatra,” “Paddington Library,” “Triptych”): You cannot help yourself from correcting other people, even when you are not yourself entirely sure that you are right. “Actually,” you hear yourself say, and your voice is high and hateful in your own ears. “Actually, that’s not true.” You are not sure if it is true, but you want to make sure that no one accidentally believes anything they don’t have to.
Apple Cider/Apple Pie: You surround yourself with the shadow of food. Coworkers and friends often ask, “Is that all you’re having for lunch?” You buy everything that can be scented or flavored of food without actually being food. Your lip gloss tastes like food. Your perfume smells like food. Your house smells like food, but you are not cooking and you are not eating, and you are always hungry. But you smell satisfied.
Ocean Breeze: You are deeply invested in the idea of “spoiling yourself,” largely because if you do not do it, no one else will. You spend your one week of vacation at a spa with your favorite cousin, and it is always the best week of the year.
Lemon Verbena: You hate the word “moist” and watching scary movies. “You guys,” you say to your friends, if anyone in your group talks about going to see one. “You guys, you know I can’t,” as if you are fatally allergic to them. Most of them find you faintly ridiculous and more than a little weak for it; at least one secretly appreciates your speaking up about it so they don’t have to. You feel increasingly insulted every time someone brings it up, as if they are doing it to spite you personally. One of them is.
Chai/Cinnamon Chai/Vanilla Chai/Chocolate Chai: You regularly bring homemade baked goods into the office “for no reason.” The reason is that you want to be enormously beloved. You want people to notice when you are not there, and to ask about how you’re doing, and to think about how you will feel about things before they make decisions that affect you. People thank you for the baked goods, but almost always in a way that suggests they have become used to it and frankly expect it of you. If you forgot, they would briefly resent you, then forget about it entirely.
Something that is not a candle that plugs into the wall, but behaves like a candle: Sometimes, when you are down to your last $100, you will go to Target and fill a shopping cart with $20 shirtdresses and skin-sensitive sunscreen and three-for-one packs of brand-name gum. You promise yourself you will ditch the cart before you reach the checkout counter. Your stomach feels hot and thick the closer you get to the counter without abandoning the cart. You can’t afford this, the scanner reminds you with every beep. You can’t afford any of this. The next day, you will mention off-hand that “I just can’t go into Target without spending everything!” and your friends will laughingly agree. Where do other people get money from, you wonder. How can you become one of those people. You find yourself thinking of money in terms of types of people, rather than types of behavior or types of circumstances. Some people can’t help but attract money. They start out with it and they are wrapped in it and they are flooded with it and they cannot see beyond themselves from the thickness of it. You are not that person. Your house smells wonderful, like syrup and wax and bright, bold colors, and you are terrified, and you never look at your balance when the ATM prompts you to.
Rosemary/Thyme: You subscribe to Real Simple magazine and clean your house exclusively with Mrs. Meyer’s products. You often express a desire to “eat clean,” and your boyfriend is friendly and unobjectionable. The two of you regularly take trips together, and you spent last Christmas with his family (his mother loves you, although not quite as much as you think) but have not yet brought up the subject of moving in with one another.
Clean Linen: You fall asleep within ten minutes of getting into bed, and you almost never wake up in the middle of the night. You have no idea that this is unusual.
