If you’re here, it’s fine, you can admit it. You’re desperate.
Like many others I know, you’ve done all you can, today, staring down the mouth of the big green dragon. Moved the turtle babies, picketed the nuclear plant, eaten the raw smoothie with protein powder.
Me, I’m utterly exhausted from my full-time job: the mockery of sport-utility vehicle drivers. By the end of the day, I just need to pat myself on the back, go home and relax in a vat of warmed, partially-hydrogenized corn oil. Ah, so good for the skin.
So, I feel ya. I know how dragging your feet on the blacktop, returning those plastic bags to the Stop and Shop, can just about push you over the edge. In fact, somedays, isn’t just that one more thing that’ll blow you to bits?
So, it’s cool… No dragons here. Come as you are, and let it fall away. I mean, you can’t furrow your brow all time. Here you can stop by and do nothing, vent, gorge yourself. I won’t tell.
Guilty pleasures are all about that awesomely dread-licious secret you keep.
No one knows, after your long, uphill day, that you luxuriously drive the long way home, just to roll around in a new pair of sweatshop long johns while eating a dozen Dunkin Donuts from the box— that “Hello gorgeous” orange and white waxed paperboard you will then, with glee, toss into your plastic trashcan, which you keep lined with a plastic liner. Town rules.
No one needs to know.
And anyway, a little glee, is needed here. I think we can all agree.
