Just kidding, dear reader, I would never give up sweets. It wouldn't be fair to the rest of the world. For one thing, it's hard to justify the incremental benefit to my health when my resulting state of mind would punch a hole in the ozone layer.
Anyway, darn you, Trader Joe! You mysterious, exotic merchant of the seas, collecting your succulent morsels from around the world, staring at me across the room with your smoldering eyes and mouthing the words: crunchy, flavorful toffeed pistachio nuts individually coated with rich dark chocolate until my tea cup trembles and I suddenly feel faint. Is toffeed even a word or is it something you conjured up, knowing how it would make me swoon?
Oh, my. I am tired tonight. I just finished getting the girls to bed. It is the loveliest, coziest time of the day, this twenty minutes or so that I spend reading to them. Sophie actually leans her head on my shoulder. The other two girls, since we are reading in their bedroom, carefully arrange chairs for us to sit in.
No matter how long I read, they always beg for more, and some of the most interesting conversations ensue from their questions afterward. We have nearly completed Fantastic Mr. Fox and Caroline has already lined up a new book entitled The Adventures of Reddy Fox. I don't think I need to clarify the pattern here. The girls have an inordinate interest in my stories about wolves, coyotes, and foxes. I once told them the tale of the ill-fated wedding party in My Antonia and they demanded I repeat it five times on the spot, just to make sure they had all the facts straight.
Here is one story I will not be telling them, since it involves behavior on my part that calls into question my credentials as an intelligent being. A couple of summers ago, I became smitten with the concept of trail running. There is an amazing red rock canyon just ten minutes or so down the highway from our home, and I would drive out there in the evenings and run along a trail through the desert. Nice, right? On one occasion, however, I failed to negotiate how quickly the sun could drop behind the mountains and suddenly, out in the middle of nowhere, I realized it was too dark to see more than a few feet ahead of me.
I was forced to slow down and concentrate more carefully on the ground, since the terrain was rocky and it was difficult to see where I was going. At that moment, seemingly three feet behind me, a long, mournful howl came out of the darkness.
I tell you I jumped twice my height into the air.
The need to tread carefully didn't seem like such a priority anymore and I began a long-legged dash through the desert. The voice howled again, closer this time, and as if that wasn't bad enough, it was answered by another voice located somewhere in the direction I was heading. A conversation ensued, and I may not speak wolf, but I'm pretty sure they were debating whether or not I tasted like chicken.
At this point I'm in an all out sprint, running so fast my feet are barely touching the ground. I'm entering into all kinds of negotiations with whomever will listen: promises to be a better wife, a better mom, to make my bed, to stop screening my calls.
And suddenly--THUD!
I crash into what feels like the Great Wall of China...only it's a wild burro, dear reader.
A wild burro.
There aren't enough exclamation marks in the universe to do this moment justice, so I won't even bother. The burro just stands there, totally nonplussed, as if human missiles are a dime a dozen. I wobble around, unable to breathe, wondering if this is the afterlife.
And then I'm off again, running in circles, making a whole new batch of promises to stop watching reality TV, to water my plants, to let my husband buy a table saw.
Well, so...you know how this story ends, right? Just like that movie where the narrator begins by telling you some terrible thing that happened to her last summer. No matter how bad it gets, you know she's going to make it. She has to.
Otherwise, how would she still be here talking to you?