Tuesday, February 2, 2010
A clubbed catfish
Okay... I was watching a movie that used the line, "Don't just stand there like a clubbed catfish."
I love that line. Stupification was never so prettily said as that. I picture a fish, flopping, desperatly trying to get air that then is clubbed.
PETA don't come after me. The only catfish I eat is from restaurants. Generally it involves breading. No clubs. But still, that is a very graphic line.
And a cowboy said it. They have some of the better euphemisms anyway.
That was not what I came to blog about. I sort of went off track. Realigning.
Okay, I posted a blog today of far more merit and class at the Sapphire Blue Publishing blogger.
Link here: http://sapphirebluepublishing.blogspot.com
That blog was about why we need romance. Aside from it making us have an excuse to eat chocolate. It has occurred to me that romance of the real variety is a great chocolate enterprise.
Get ready to follow my logic:
You fall in love. The other person buys you chocolate. For Valentine's Day, Sweetest Day, when they make you mad... it is a chocolate haven.
But then things go bad. You break up. You console yourself. With what?
That is right, my love. Chocolate.
So, things are fine and you are single for awhile. No longer do you need comfort food. But then those same holidays come creeping around.
Not only are they a bit of a bummer if you are single because there is no one to buy you chocolate (okay, and take you out on dates and what not, but we are talking about chocolate here. Stay on my Godiva chain of thinking here. Lindor. Lindt... mmm) but they are a bummer because everyone feels the need to point out to you that you should be bummed.
On the upside, there are post holiday clearance sales... on what? Chocolate. So you buy yourself some. Because you can. The logic you use? You would have eaten it in a relationship so you can rationalize away some truffles in a wave of cocoa bliss.
It is a vicious dark velvety sweet chain of events.
I think I will have some chocolate.
I have a big chocolate ganache covered peanut butter cheesecake. I will share.
Hope you all eat a piece of lovely, melt on your tongue chocolate. And when you start to feel guilty about it... blame it on my blog. It is not your fault. I so totally planted the thought in your mind.
*I won't tell that you wanted it anyway*
Oh, by the way... this blog has no calories. Totally fat free.
Unlike my butt.