I love to play with matches.
I love to:
1. light one match (preferably wooden “light anywhere”), and with that flame light a second match;
2. blow the first one out (watch the smoke curlicue), light it with the second’s flame;
3. blow the second one out (fascinated by the smoke curlicue), light it with the first’s flame;
4. repeat 2. and 3. until the only place left to hold the match is the previously burned part.
The whole point about creating a lot a curlicue smoke is to cover, ahem, unpleasant odors.
One day, years ago, our middle son casually announced at the dinner table that he discovered that Lysol is flammable. On a visit to my sister’s house he was playing with matches, experimenting by extinguishing a match with Lysol. To his surprise and delight, the flame flared. He dropped the match in the toilet, filed the new fact about flammability in his head, and forgot it for a few months until it surfaced while we ate dinner. My sister’s house never burned down. The mercy of the Lord never ceases…
After that revelation, we replaced all the matches in our bathrooms with air freshener.
Now that the same pyromaniac son has been gone from our home for five years, and we are looking for economy in every corner, the matches have re-appeared. And I have re-discovered the simple (no longer) secret joy of playing with matches.