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Praline Cream Dream

Ya know, you finally buy a new couch and this is what happens. NEVER home to occupy it. I don’t know, is a couch one to be occupied? Sat upon, rather. Curled up in the corner of, legs tucked under. Ding! Potatoed.

Had designs on a new blue velvet one years ago when I was quite in love with cobaltish blue. Sing it, Bobby. Walked into a thrift store soon after and fell for a deeply set low-backed rust number priced at fifty bucks. Sold! Still missing it now, though the springs had long since sprung when it left earlier this month. I absolutely adore a good Chesterfield but already have a loveseat housed in the blue room in just such a style. Bought a semi-ornate Old World brown leather monstrosity back in November only to find it couldn’t make the pass around the sharp turn to the left down the hall after entering the front door. Picked out less of a monstrosity in a charcoal tweed. It took its time getting here, but we seem to like each other despite my obvious neglect as of late.

Still eyebrow high in the typical JAN/FEB overtime slog for the company catalog. Le grump. That’s spelled O.V.E.R.T.I.M.E. Yes, ten Ritz crackers and two Lifesavers did not a proper dinner make. At least one of the Savers was pineapple. Someone had a lovely breast of chicken and some veggies prepped for roasting in the fridge even, but nooo. All things circular, it was.

Just like breakfast a few weeks back. Decadent and divine macarons with praline cream. Our decorator bestows her baking talents upon us here and there. Cookies for breakfast? Sometimes. For tonight’s dinner? Let’s hope not.


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