Do you have a guilty pleasure? As for myself, naming only one may prove difficult. Or perhaps I could rationalize this one away and say there are NO guilty pleasures. I’m an adult. Everything is fair game. (So long as I’m calling my mother and paying attention to hubby and the kids, right?)
Oh, but I do love fantasy play! Alright, my number one guilty pleasure…
Does flirting count? It’s not chocolate cake (that I so desperately yearn for), but it is equally as fulfilling. I am a living breathing woman with needs and, eh-hem, ego. I am getting older, wider—er, I mean, wiser. Yes, older and wiser is what I’m getting and when the bag boy at my local supermarket smiles bright and asks, “Are these your kids?”
As though he’s surprised that a woman of my youthful appearance could have produced elementary-aged children—upper elementary-aged children, to be exact. Well, it’s an easy mistake to make (a lie I’ll continue to tell myself) so I smile in reply and say, “Why yes, they are.”
“Wow…” he utters in shock.
Sweet child. Of course he must be younger than he looks because if he had a lick of worldly sense about him, he would know that no woman in her right mind would take another person’s child to the grocery store, let alone two. Shoot—it’s not even wise to take your own kids to the store let alone someone else’s!
And to think I had grown older and wiser. (Perhaps I have a few years to go before that particular feature kicks in.) Yes, well, can we get back to chocolate? At least I’ve grown wise enough to distinguish between good chocolate and bad chocolate. You know, as in: I only eat dark chocolate.
Okay, that’s a lie. The best chocolate pudding cake is not made from dark chocolate but my ever so favorite milk chocolate with caramel between the layers, topped with milk chocolate frosting…
Speaking of frosting, I believe I’m plum out. I think it’s time I head to the grocery store right now—without the kids. Heaven knows they’ll want some of my cake if they see me buy it! (Told you it wasn’t a good idea to shop with children.) Now if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time I practice my “innocent” look—before the kids and hubby get home.
How about you? Any guilty pleasures you want to share?