In the days of the Cosby Show and Madonna, McDonald's served the most delectable apple pies. Not the dry crumbly wannabe pies of today. The old ones were deep fried, boiling hot with crispy, oily skin covered in crunchy golden bubbles. They trumped hot fudge sundaes if that tells you anything. I loved them like Gollum loves his precious.
One day, while eating at McDonald's, my dad saw me looking a little glum.
"What's wrong Angie?" ( I was about 5 btw)
"I'm depressed."
"Why?"
"Because this is my last bite of apple pie."
All good things come to an end. Now Christmas is over and I feel like I just ate my last bite of apple pie. My Christmas manicure has chipped off. I poured the eggnog down the drain. It glubbed out thick and yellow and coated the sink. I haven't had the heart to plug in the outdoor lights for three days. Okay, that was dramatic...I just forgot to actually. But still. I wouldn't have forgotten if it were still Christmas!
But the worst - Trashing the gingerbread houses. The trash was full and I pressed them down in the bag with a flat palm, crumbling them into sweet smelling victims of Hurricane Angie. Christmas is over and all evidences of it must die. Okay. That also was melodramatic.
Sigh.
You know what, though? I'm leaving my cards up. I'm leaving them up well into February!
The tree's getting the boot on Monday.
At least I have the extra 10 pounds I'm sure I've gained to keep me warm through the rest of the winter.
Gag.
