Gotta have a fling

I am sitting here, minding my own business, writing like a, like a...fiend. I have a lot of writing to catch up on, and am mostly done. I reward myself with a fling, a candy bar that m&m Mars makes, that is like..well, not quite, but almost as good as sex. If sex was a finger of chocolate layered around a cookie and some truffle cream.

My daughter, Miss I am 15 going on 30, walks in. She is just visiting and I am half-listening when she grabs the wrapper, and notices who makes the candy bar. Now, I am in trouble. My daughter is, if not an animal rights' activist, certainly someone who thinks carefully about her choices. Last year, she took Biology, but didn't dissect anything. She did her entire lab assignments via virtual dissection. And ended up with an A. She is currently boycotting this candy company due to animal testing.

JBug: Ugh. You're eating that?
Me: Yup. Yummmy.
JBug: Some little mouse died so that you could have chocolate!
Me: That was nice of him.
JBug: ::eyeroll::: I meant, you are killing mice with that chocolate.
Me: Now chocolate is a weapon?? Must not hurt much. I mean, it gets so soft and squishy so quickly...

I win. She shakes her head, makes an exasperated noise, because honestly mothers can be so dense? and stalks out of my room.

Leaving me, to my chocolate. In peace. Now, who's the smart one?

T, who says don't come between a momma and her chocolate

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