As I stared at the grotesquely hot pink candle today and felt everyone’s eyes on me, the only thought that remained was the necessity to get the mess over with as quickly as possible. So it wasn’t until my co-worker Jame, asked me what I wished for that I realized that I had forgotten. But no amount of enforced wishing could have made me come up with a pop tart answer, giving in to high pressure wishing. And if I HAD made a wish it would only have been that I might better know what I ought to wish for.
I mumbled something back to her about not liking to make wishes and felt the gulf between me and them grow even wider.
I guess what I wanted to say, though I never seem to be able to find the words, was that such things seem hollow to me. And if it is worth wishing for, isn’t it worth praying for? Because it seems to me, given a choice between the two lotteries, that praying might offer better odds than wishing. I imagine I can do that birthday candle or not, with bunches more time to choose.
And now I only find myself wishing that I might never be asked to WISH on the spot like that amidst people I would rather not pray with, ever again.