Saturday, August 1, 2009

Ode to a Cream Puff

Welcome back, suckers. It's Saturday night. I'm sitting here, on my kitchen counter. Alone. Sitting on the counters is not something I would generally do, kinda like sliding down the banister or swinging from the chandelier. But I'm here all by myself, so I figured now's as good a time as any. It's nice and roomy up here. Can't believe I never thought to do this before. So guess what, folks. I'm not going out tonight. At all. My entire family is gone for the rest of the night, and I am taking the opportunity to have the entire blessed house to myself. I was supposed to go to a block party. I don't like block parties very much. Two hours ago I plucked up the nerve to beg pardon from the party.

Me: "I hate these stupid block parties. I don't know anybody."
Mom: "Stop. You know everyone."
Me: "Yeah, but I don't like any of them."

So it was a bit harsh. But not entirely untrue, and it worked. Now, friends, I have the luxury of six blessed hours with the house all to myself. What to do, what to do. Cream puffs. I want cream puffs. And cheesecake. As boring as that sounds, I want to sit on my living room floor and do nothing all night but eat cream puffs and cheesecake. And the cheesecake better be from the French Boulangerie in Epcot. 'Cause that was the best freaking cheesecake I ever ate in my life. Oddly enough, my favorite cream puffs are the cheap little frozen ones in the tub from Costco. Every Christmas of my life has been punctuated by my sitting down and eating frozen cream puff after frozen freaking cream puff. It's delightful.

Holy crap, look at that. Just look at that. This picture is the most beautiful thing I've seen all day. I wonder what they would think of me if I just went to Shoprite right now and walked out with five boxes of cream puffs. No, that wouldn't do. I'd probably have to go to some place where they don't know me. It would probably be like Maisie said, as we waited in line at our hotel gift shop, her holding Cool Ranch Doritos and cheese puffs, and me with a box of cheesecake and chocolate doughnuts to stock the room with: "I feel like a fatso." God, I miss Disney. The hotel. The late nights. The rides. The anonymity. Come on. Where else on the planet would I be able to walk around in a Marge Simpson wig? Did you actually think I'm that cracked? Of course not. The only reason I did it was I knew I would never see any of those people again. The marvelous anonymity Disney offered also prompted me to do a few other things I'm not exactly proud of, such as wearing no makeup, wearing an obnoxious giant tourist hat, going to see Finding Nemo: The Musical, and allowing a bunch of Brazilian kids to sing me Happy Birthday. In Spanish. Twice.

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