So…this morning I could eat myself!
My Athol is disdainful about “Hallmark Holidays.” But may I say, he does birthdays like a champion, so a girl has plenty to be grateful for.
Yesterday he picked up our groceries in this newfangled order-online-with-free-pick-up system which allows you to continue your business call as they load your stuff into your trunk. He came in carrying a small pink bag labeled “Mom.” I was thrilled. “Oh, look! You didn’t forget,” I cried, kissing him into a coma. But mid smooches he said, “It’s not from me. It’s free from WalMart”.
As you can imagine kisses abruptly ceased.
Well, this Mother’s Day I meandered half asleep as usual to put the kettle on for coffee. An intriguing black box with a fancy blue bow quickly opened sleepy eyes. The box looked expensive but after my WalMart freebee, my expectations were low. Maybe this one was from Publix.
I opened the card. It was from our dogs signed with their Zulu names: Tsotsi (meaning naughty little bugger) and Tula (Hush). I was thrilled. It is, after all, the thought that counts. A card is a big deal to me.
I took the black box back to bed pushing dogs out of the way and untied the silk ribbon to open the lid. Inside black shreds so thick each strand looked like an intricate origami creation. I dug inside and came up with a tall black box. Inside was a leather sheath with a drawstring, marked with a symbol fit for a queen or a spy or the clandestine buyer of illegal counter-terrorism weaponry. This sure wasn’t Cover Girl!
The bottle – no, more a cylinder – rare and potentially explosive – like the innards of a nuclear bomb – indicated the contents should be used with extreme care. The nozzle was secured by complex split pin with a silver charm. It looked like a designer hand grenade. I carefully removed the pin and taking a hell-of-a chance, I sprayed this rare essence onto my skin.
I slipped from this world and into the next, transported in a flash to my very own utopia.
You see those who know me know my ultimate heaven. I will float in a tube made of Nestlé’s Aero on a lazy river of milk chocolate nibbling on a Cadbury’s Flake, cruising slowly past over-hanging willow trees smelling of mint from which I’ll pluck colorfully wrapped Lindt’s bonbons.
And there I was in my nirvana, courtesy of “Chocolate Greedy” perfume from Montale, Paris.
I snuggled into my thoughtful husband’s arms, and he said affectionately, “Ah, my chocolate bubble,” and I came straight back down to earth. But my heart was full, and my body smelt simply divine. I was one happy mother!