Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
I wish you all great joy on this Christmas Eve. Sweet Cheeks will be here tonight for ham and scalloped potatoes.
We had a party at work yesterday that, happily, was not a pot luck. It was catered. We ate our little hearts out and then had a gift exchange that had us all laughing. We even got to leave early, and today is a paid holiday. I am happy to be with Franklin and Penelope who did not complain about not rising at 6 a.m.
A lovely young lady came by with her two daughters and accepted my offering of children's books and Christmas cookies. I baked several kinds.
Sweet Cheeks shocked me last weekend by telling me he does not like my homemade cookies. People rave about my cookies, I told him.
I don't like cookies with things in them, he said.
This statement mystified me for a moment. Things? Butter? Eggs? Cockroaches? What things had he found in my cookies that offended him?
It turned out he doesn't like bits of candies in cookies. He also doesn't care for chocolate cookies or sugar cookies. He does like oatmeal raisin cookies (he is not disturbed by the fact that raisins look like dead flies), and he likes peanut butter cookies as long as nothing is added to them, such as chocolate chips.
So I am about to whip up a batch of peanut butter cookies for my dear Sweet Cheeks. He had damn well better eat them and like them.
Infinities of love,