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
it literally smells like waking up on a cold night to find a bearded richard armitage adding another quilt to the bed before he gets back in and pulls you snugly against his chest
I’m not fucking around I feel like I should be watching chris hemsworth in flannel and suspenders whittling a delicate masterpiece in front of a fireplace rn
All right, Tumblr, I saw this post a few months ago and immediately realized I had to smell this candle. I have never in my life experienced such a burning need (pun intended) to smell what the Yankee Candle website described as a warm aroma of cedarwood and sage, but what Tumblr described as my new boyfriend.
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.
MOUNTAIN LODGE.
This is how you do advertisement
we love everything about all of this. We will always be there for you, just light your Mountain Lodge candle and know that our love burns bright for you.
The official Yankee Candle™ tumblr account has recognized the Mountain Lodge mythos. My work on the material plane is finally complete. A being of pure light, I slowly ascend to the aether.
Well, shit. Now I need to go buy this candle. I even *have* a man and I feel like I should go buy this candle.
Texas Gothic
– “Remember the Alamo,” people say. They glance toward the horizon with fear in their eyes and plan their yearly pilgrimage to San Antonio. The Alamo does not like to be forgotten.
– The lake is not natural. It was built as a reservoir, everyone says, but when you go out on your cousin’s boat, you always see strange movements in your wake. In summer, when the water level drops low and lower still, bare branches reach from below the surface, strangely twisted and contorted. The lake lodges close down. Your cousin puts his boat in storage. No one mentions that there are more branches this summer than last. No one mentions how they move even when there’s no wind.
– Each winter, the Northerners come, driving in by the dozens from Michigan and New York and Oregon, even Canada. “We’re getting too old to brave the snow,” they tell you. “It’s so warm here! Such balmy weather. You must love living here year ‘round.” They look somehow thinner than they were when they arrived, eyes fever-bright and fingers twitching nervously. “Such nice weather,” they whisper. “So warm.”
– “Everybody’s somebody in Luckenbach,” proclaims a T-shirt in the back of your closet. You have never been to Luckenbach, and neither has anyone you know. The shirt hangs there as a reminder: someday Luckenbach will call to you, and you will not be able to resist.
– It is fifty degrees out and everyone you pass in the street is in heavy winter gear, as though their skin feels a chill that the thermometer doesn’t register.
– In the night, you hear gunshots. “It’s okay,” your mother says. “Just dove hunters.” You know it’s not dove season, but you go back to bed anyway. It’s better than thinking of alternative reasons for the gunfire.
– After a day of excruciating heat, the skies open and rain pours down. At first, you’re delighted, but as the rain goes on and on, you start calling family members to make sure they’re on high ground. The rivers rise and flow over the roads, dividing the town into a series of islands, and still it rains. There’s a dip in the road at the entrance to your neighborhood, and it fills with water. You count your canned foods and check the weather-proofing on your doors and windows. It is still raining. You no longer remember what dry ground looks like.
– You pass a recent roadkill on the highway. In the split-second glimpse you get of it, it seems too big for a deer. There are too many limbs. A high-pitched ringing starts up in your ears and you quickly look away. When you drive past the spot again later that day, there’s nothing there.
– “Texas-sized,” says the 64-ounce cup you bought at the gas station. “Texas-sized,” brags the diner about its burgers. “Texas-sized,” whispers your neighbor, pointing out the tracks in your lawn. They look like coyote tracks, but they’re ten inches across.
*whispers* You can be mature and respectful and still have a dirty sense of humour.
*murmurs* You can curse a lot and still be highly intelligent with a massive vocabulary.
*mumbles* You can be quiet and reserved and still be witty and even outgoing in certain circles.
*sighs* You can be intelligent and sharp-minded and still forget what month it is
