Ok, so the next holiday is Cinco de Mayo. I frankly have no idea what Cinco de Mayo is. I unfortunately associate it with a bunch of college-aged kids drinking Natty Light and Keystone.
I do know what I want for Cinco de Mayo, however. My employer brought his kids to work today, and I have watched them consume chocolate, donut holes, Goldfish crackers, cookies, and milkshakes. I was staring at this poor girl’s chocolate bar like a rabid dog. She offered me a piece (probably because Daddy’s employee looked crazy). I reached my hand out ever so slowly, contemplating my next move. I was so close. About to touch the chocolate, but yet so far away. I reached down to smell the chocolate. It was dark chocolate. The kind with a scent so pungent and so rich that you think you’re in the cacao fields, bathing in a jacuzzi of chocolate bubbles. I turned my head away, causing just the slightest breeze, which only intensified the scent.
Then I backed off, because she started crying. What gives? Anyways, the point is: for Cinco de Mayo, I want the metabolism of a 10-year old. Santa (or the Cinco de Mayo equivalent) — please come down my proverbial chimney and grant me my wish. I promise I’ll be nice this year. And I promise to not keep my promise or promises to not keep my promise if you know what I promised.