An 80s Moment

Yes, I know. It’s been a while. Don’t start with me, I’m already having an 80s moment. Okay. Fine. It could also be defined as a PMS moment. Or a Last Week Was the Week From Hell moment. Really, you choose.

My dream job is now my day job, so as usual, feel free to go out and gift any of my books to all your friends and family so my new day job (freelance writer, editor, and author) could become my retirement. Loving the new day job, although I have to get it going a bit more, so see previous comment.

But last week, after returning from Snarky Daughter’s graduation present of a trip to Disney World – and how lucky am I to have a kid who wants her mom to go with her to Disney World after high school and before she’s forty – I came home to have to replace… the washing machine (which was as old as my daughter), the well pump (older than my daughter, and the mattress (nowhere near as old as my daughter). Just hush about why I needed to replace the mattress.

The mattress arrived yesterday and I got my first good night’s sleep in about four years. Which meant that this afternoon, all those purchases made while lacking a closet full of corporate clients or New York Times Bestsellers (mine, not the ones I buy), hit me full force.

I did what every sane woman does in such a moment. I looked for chocolate. Apparently Scout Son ate that while I was gone. I’d complain, but he also painted the barn and took care of the dog, so if it cost me some Hershey’s Kisses, oh well.

Digging in the pantry got me nothing… except a Trader Joe’s Pound Plus bar of premium chocolate. If you haven’t seen it, it’s exactly what it claims. Over a pound of really nice chocolate that I use for baking.

And then I remembered this…

Which led to me doing this…


Yes, really.

Reese’s does it better. Actually, Trader Joe’s does peanut butter cups really well. For the record, it’s probably better to get in your car and drive into the 80s, or at least to the nearest store, and get something created by a trained professional. Because while I can make Irish Cream Truffles that you’ll beg for, and I can write a romance novel that reminds you that happily ever after is something to strive for, I seem to lack the basic chocolate and peanut butter skills found on the average street corner in 1985.