I am sick as a dog. As are Big D and miss poopypants. little d has so far remained unscathed by the scourge that is a nasty winter cold. The snow, freezing rain, slush, and “wintry mix” (who came up with that term? they should go out and eat the wintry mix. blech.) doesn’t help, though it’s pretty out the window when you don’t have to go outside. Thank goodness I work from home a couple of days a week and the crap outside was so bad yesterday that they closed my office.
But! I’ve been abstaining from my little chocolate devil for almost two weeks and have been oh so tempted. Tonight, I thought, I could treat myself. Just get the small size on the way into the grocery store – there’s a place to get it right across the parking lot – and leisurely wind my way through the store for half an hour or so. How pathetic is it that my idea of a good time is hot chocolate and groceries at 9:30 at night just because my kids aren’t involved? Yeah, I know.
Well, it was not to be. I hit the parking lot and plant the car strategically mid-way between commercial enterprises. Emerge from the car at 9:11 and head toward salty caramel chocolate decadence. And try to open a locked door. It appears that two days before Christmas, this particular location decided to change its hours and close at 9 pm. Crap on a stick. Should I jump back in the car, venture about ten blocks out of my way, just to go to the next location which should be open until about 11 or so?
I decided against it. Sick Big D at home on the couch kept flashing before my eyes, making me feel guilty for feeling better than he did and getting some time away from the kiddos. So I was good, flirted with the meat counter guy over a seven-pound pork shoulder (we both go to the grocery store to get away from our kids! I am not alone!), and grabbed some C monstrosity designed to make me feel better. I listened to the gods, this time….