You will be missed, Sir.
R.I.P. Christopher Lee (1922 – 2015)
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Who’s Alex?
Billboard demonstrating gender stereotypes as most people automatically assume that Alex is the boy.
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Ladies, I am holding out my hand. Do you trust me?
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.
MOUNTAIN LODGE
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mrswika
The same brooch.
The same pearls.
The same love.
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This Means War
Not for the first time, Mycroft pulled on his tie.
It wasn’t that he was unaccustomed to wearing ties. In fact, he wore them on a daily basis and was quite fond of them. He liked to dress smartly, it gave him an air of confidence and superiority that lends itself rather handy in his line of work. Not to mention, the sight of him in a waistcoat did things to Anthea. He wasn’t sure what the things were exactly, but he was rather fond of them.
No, ties weren’t the problem. This tie was the problem.
He ran his finger under his collar and sneered.
‘What’s wrong, brother dear?’ Sherlock slid into the seat beside him with a smirk. ‘Can’t stomach wearing a cherry-patterned tie?’
‘It’s… bearable.’
Sherlock tossed his head back and laughed. ‘You hate it, we both know it. Now take it off!’
‘And hurt Molly’s feelings?’ Mycroft sniffed and straightened up, pressing his chest (and the tie) out proudly. ‘Never.’
They sat in silence for several minutes and watched the couple dancing about the floor.
‘She’s quite lovely. Though, how you ever managed to deserve her is a mystery even you will never solve,’ Mycroft commented as Molly twirled by in John’s arms, her white dress rustling about.
‘But that won’t stop me from trying,’ Sherlock retorted and stood, straightening his jacket and tie. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s about time I steal my wife back from Three Continents Watson.’
Mycroft chuckled lazily and waved him away.
Sherlock hadn’t gone more than two steps when he turned back with a smirk. ‘You do realize that Molly only asked you to wear that in order to make you uncomfortable.’
The smile dropped off Mycroft’s face.
‘When she gave it to you, didn’t you think it was an odd request? The only groomsman to wear a cherry-covered tie?’ Sherlock shook his head woefully at Mycroft’s dumbfounded expression.
Mycroft watched dumbly as his brother walked over and swept his bride away from John with a growl. Molly giggled and threaded her fingers behind his neck.
No, she was innocent and sweet, he refused to believe she would be so devious…
Suddenly, Molly turned her head and locked eyes with him over Sherlock’s shoulder. With a cheeky wink, she smiled widely, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
He narrowed his eyes in challenge. Oh, sister dear. This means war.
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