Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.

This is a cautionary tale much like an Aesop fable only this is not a work of fiction, but of truth. 


Once upon a time a girl told a boy, "I don't want anything for Christmas." So he bought her storage cases for her dishes, and she spent their first Christmas as a married couple in the bathroom weeping. It took many failed attempts and many years, but finally this girl decided that the best way to get what she wanted was by asking for it. That was 16 years ago. 


One day this girl began writing a blog. In that blog she told the boy what she wanted for Valentine's Day (with a link to the website). The boy was overjoyed for finally he knew that the way to his true love's heart was not through a maze of uncertain innuendos and riddles, but simply through a cookie jar. And so the boy went to aforementioned website where the girl's desired gift awaited to be purchased and shipped. The girl's box arrived the day before the upcoming holiday. When she opened the gift, her heart sang. The boy was glad. He had surprised her with what she wanted. All was well. She was so happy she made her love's favorite: peanut butter cups. She fashioned his into the shape of a burro as she pledged never to look a gift horse in the mouth. And they all lived happily ever after.


The End.

The burro incurred a broken leg during a race (to the dinner table) so the Mister had to put him down(his throat).

Good intentions

There is a saying, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." I felt that way this weekend.

Our intimate wine tasting? Um. Not quite.

I asked my darling Mister to please take me to a wine and chocolate tasting for Valentine's Day. Two of my favorites: wine and chocolate. It was cheap-and it was a fund raiser. Those two things should have tipped me off that this was not going to be a sit down intimate affair. 

When we arrived to the crowded wine bar outside DC, my darling Mister leaned in and whispered ever so sweetly, "I am glad this was not MY idea." I mouthed, "I hate this." We had landed in the middle of what felt like Happy Hour for the over 30-wine connoisseur-philanthropic. 


Let me tell you a little bit about me. I don't do "Happy Hour"-that after work time when drinks are cheap and the bars are crowded with professionals who are hopeful for a hookup. I confessed, "This is why I am a stay-at-home mom. My idea of Happy Hour is drinking alone-at home-in my bathrobe." He laughed. I do believe he loves me or he has learned to tolerate me much like an annoying hangnail.


 We meandered our way through the crowds. We met some wonderful winemakers (or whatever they are called) from around the area. We tasted some piquant vino, and then we got the hell out of there.

 Much better.