In here you keep an array of humorous and mystical ARTIFACTS, each one a devastating weapon in the hands of a SKILLED MAGICIAN or a CUNNING PRANKSTER.

You are neither of these things.

A bright orange flame flickers in the FIREPLACE. It doesn't matter that it's April and not terribly chilly outside. In a home, a FIREPLACE needs a fire, because that's what FIREPLACE is for. A fire BELONGS in a FIREPLACE, dammit, cata(ptcha)gorically, at all times, without exception. 

You eye your birthday package again curiously. It's awfully tempting to peek inside, but you feel guilty about it for some reason, even though it's yours anyway.