Do you have any idea how combustible crayons are? Like, exploding-rainbow-blaze-of-glory combustible. The reason I know this is because when I was a kid, I stored a 24-pack of neon crayons in the glove compartment of my mom’s Toyota Corolla. This was all well and good until a particularly hot summer day, when we emerged from the store to find the inside of the car utterly splattered with neon wax.
We picked melted crayon off the car’s hard surfaces for six years until we sold it, and I’ve never forgotten the juxtaposition of boring beige plastic streaked with screaming neon colors. I refer to it often, actually, when describing my hectic, hyper-organized Google calendar.
“It looks like a crayon box exploded,” I joke. And it does, only the color palette is far more refined these days.