Santa-like jolliness is coursing through my veins like the buzz off a good mulled wine. Visions of cheese platters and frosted snowmen cookies prance around my brain and cloud my vision as I deal with every day “important” things like work, cat food (homemade, of course– what am I, a monster??), and health insurance (l’chaim, ObamaCare). Pandora has crafted the perfectly festive musical accompaniments, Deb is motivating me to be craftier, and ugly reindeer sweaters…well, they’re just a fact of life because there isn’t a fire vast enough to burn every last one.
Oh sure. You could slap some beef ragu on some penne, maybe mix in a little cream if you’re feeling frisky, and then call it a day. But where’s the love? The comfort? The blood, sweat, tears?? If you want people to think you’re merely average then I implore you to follow through with the above method of entertaining. It’ll get you a solid 3 out of 5.
But not this lady. I want people (and by people, sometimes I mean just me…sometimes it’s all just for me!) to know that I positively slaved over a complicated process that would make even Leonardo cross his eyes in wonderment. And why?