Snow is piled up almost to the top of my foot, and it's colder than a well-digger's back pocket. On days like this, rather than slip my way to work I'd rather stay home and — focus on food.
I imagine hot pots of homemade soup simmering on the stove. I fantasize about warm cornbread out of the oven. I dream of chili, hot and spicy. Warm cookies. Steaming pans of brownies. ....Ooooh!
Ahem. Excuse me. Got a little carried a way there.
The actual work that goes into preparing all those things doesn't occur to me. Cleanup gets pushed out of my mind. Slogging my way through snow and cold to take bags of trash to the Dumpster doesn't even enter the picture.
I dream of snuggling down with warm comfort food, and all my cares melt like the accumulated frozen sludge on the bottom of my car.
Maybe if one day I actually did make hot soup, and warm cornbread, and brownies on a cold snowy day I would either 1) be satisfied to have carried out a longing desire or 2) realized that my cold-day fantasy is a lot like Christmas memories -- all the reality and disappointment are edited out.
My money's on number 2. I've experienced too many times of finding out Prince Charming is really a toad.
Maybe it's the fantasy that keeps me warm on cold days, because in my dream world, I don't see myself chopping vegetable and scrubbing dirty utensils. Just inhaling the aroma and enjoying the flavors and warmth. In my fantasy I scarf down the entire pan of brownies and don't gain weight. And my cornbread never crumbles either.
Maybe the snow will melt soon and it'll warm up and I can go back to fantasizing about Harrison Ford ditching that scrawny Callista Flockhart and coming over to revel in making me some hot soup and cornbread.
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