I am filled to the brim with Mackinac Island fudge, and yet, I am still going to eat one more sliver. Then another. Then another. Mackinac Island fudge is better than Rock City fudge or Little Nashville Fudge, or even hubby’s homemade fudge, which ironically, comes from a recipe he got while visiting Mackinac Island.
In a roundabout way, it is actually hubby’s fault that I’m sitting here on Mackinac, stuffing my face with chocolate. He postponed several of his business trips so that, as a family, we could travel with him all summer. But due to the unexpected arrival of an unwanted guest in our midst, he had to go without us. Now, I am stuck entertaining Pseudomonas the vicious surgical bacteria, and he is stuck in Kathmandu.
He tries not to make it sound too exciting. It’s not his fault he got bumped to first class on the 10-hour flight from London to Nepal, and had to sit next to a gorgeous, long-legged Chanel model. I looked her up online, and I gotta say, I feel kind of sorry for her. It has to be difficult going through life looking like that. I mean, who is going to take you seriously when your face is absolutely flawless? And how can she fully appreciate her stunningly flat belly if she has never known the pain of a tummy tuck that ended in a Pseudomonas infection?
Excuse me while I slice another piece of fudge.
Apparently, they are working poor hubby to death. He is too exhausted to enjoy the fancy restaurant dinners he is subjected to every evening. And he is so tired, the turn-down service at the hotel barely has time to place a mint on his pillow before he crashes into bed at night. I’ve been feeling so sorry for him, that I just had to get away for a while to get my mind off of his terrible plight.