This afternoon, I reached absent-mindedly into my desk drawer while I was working (i.e., surfing Pinterest for ancient Greek jewelry) (fine, and also for "silver hair") (also badgers) and my fingers brushed a horror: the last of the Yuletide Mon Cherie. I get mine from Germany, where they are filled mit das booze, as they say. I used to beg for, and hence receive (Christmas is an oddly fraught holiday at our house), Bernard Callebaut's chocolate-covered cherries. Guaranteed to leave a mess on your chin, your decollete if you have such a thing, and innocent bystanders. Delicious but dangerous. Also: freakin' expensive. Seriously, for the price of 12 of those suckers, Santa purchased 88 of the German delicacies. Which, if you're paying attention, means that in 29 days I have eaten 88 boozy chocolate cherries.
Some women would be ashamed of themselves.
I am not one of these women.
336 days, 3 hours, 27 minutes til Christmas.
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