Nothing of the sort

God, this is good.

But, what makes it pretty damn perfect is this:

It's good hot and is pretty wow because it smells up the whole house with that warm kinda melty sweet smell. Of course, that's good. But, when that same food can kinda chill with you, like they say not to do in a food handler's course - like you get up early Christmas morning to make scrambled eggs and chocolate chip panty cakes and then you eat some then ... and you know the house smells wow because you stepped outside ... and you were only gone a second, but then, when you came back in, wow ... it smells like warm scrambled eggs and chocolate chip pancakes and little boys soap and clean hair and christmas - yup - smells like straight christmas in here - so, at that exact moment - muah!

the food is swell.

but, then, you let it chill, all bundled up together in a foggy little huddle - forgotten in the kitchen while the real fun explodes on the other side of the wall - boom - boom - boom - big smiles and bigger laughs and the only thing bigger's the hugs, and the food, eggs on bottom in a do not microwave senselessly frilly open dutch oven thingie with the pancakes, chocolate chip on the bottom, thin crispy buttery plain ones stacked on top, on top - in a plate - stacked on top of the dutch oven thingie, kinda like a lid - and, you know ... it makes the bottom of the plate all steamy and foggy and that makes the chocolate oh so allthetimegooey, but the thin crispy plain ones are not touching the chocolate at all, so ...

it's sitting there chillin', the whole time you're chillin'

sittin there lookin like you're enjoying your time, but you’re fightin down bile that's fightin against your fight like a ragin blizzard

that amidoingtherightthingfortheselittleboysoramihopelesslyfuckingthemupgodihopeimnotfuckingthemuptheselittleangelsaretherealestrealmadeupoftherealestshitieverseenandgodpleasedontletmebefuckingthemupletmebelovedsomedaylikeestherandzpleasegodpleasegodpleasegodplease
kinda bile that snakes up a mom's throat about a million or a dozen times a day.

And when the presents are already divided up into the naturally ordered chaotic piles of tighter and tighter swirls of wrapping paper, toy and packaging and making its way in tighter and tighter and lines – routes, if you will, backyard, patio, open gate, dumpster, open gate, in, or – blue room, boys room, toy box, closet, bed, or – like me, to a chair.

boom

Little boom. Not a sonic. boom.

... so, of course, it’s those thin, crispy, oily, salty, buttery plain ones that aren’t touching the chocolate at all that you reach for first.

they chill so well.

roll it up and while your nostrils are telling your mouth you are about to inhale a tongue-full of warm and melty, allthetimegooey chocolate you taste nothing of the sort and it’s

so

damn

good