I accidentally left these little delights in a hot car the other weekend, but no loss: I ate the chocolate goo out of the bag like a Push-Pop, tonguing the plastic zippered part to get every last ounce.
But look what greeted me at the Denver airport last weekend! A first-class pass to mess-free candy land.
I replaced the landlord’s garish miniblinds with cheap green curtains last year and now the place feels like a dungeon, complete with a two-ton, 1,000-year-old fireplace with cracks from the 1989 earthquake.
Saffron and Genevieve, a shelter shop in my neighborhood that’s every bit as charming as it sounds, had someone come over last week to recommend new window treatments for the wood-paneled palace.
But recent overcast skies have me bustin’ out the blankets and the French press and curling up like it’s winter again, and on days like these my toasted knotty pine doesn’t seem so wrong.
The best feature of the treetop office, Joe might say, is the girl who comes in on the hour, sprawls across the desk and sings his nonsensical code — sometimes rapping, other times Christmas carolling — before abruptly retreating to her own lair, where she’s also writing, except in English.
The window looks kinda rustic, doesn’t it? like maybe it’d been snowing these last few days?
It hit the mid-70s here, actually; the beach was crowded.
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