Say hello to Mr. Almond Horn. Chomping into this delectable treat is like biting into the finest, sugary marzipan, coated with those yummy, glazed, sweet, sliced almonds–an amazing collision of crunchy and velvety goodness. And for those of you who might say, I’m really not a huge fan of marzipan or almonds, I ask the obvious: What is WRONG with you?
This sensuous little creature arrived at my house in a white bakery box with eleven of its friends several days ago. Some made their way to my colleagues and pals, and some went right down the hatch. This last one came out of the freezer this morning to thaw, and I confess I have been noshing on it all day. When it’s gone, it’s gone. I have put the kibosh on future almond horns, as I have developed a bit of a jelly roll around my middle during this last week.
I would tell you where Mr. Almond Horn came from, but then I would have to kill you. That is because the Vermont bakery where these and other delights are made also employs Handsome Chef Boyfriend. And while I am over the moon about this fella, I am committed to honoring his privacy.
Had you told me a year ago that right at this moment I would be 1) divorced, 2) living in Vermont, and 3) the *former* director of a kick-ass little ballet school of my own founding in Knoxville, Tennessee, I’d have begged you to awaken me from a very bad dream.
The view from here, however, is pretty spectacular. I had long forgotten how nice it feels to be in the presence of a man who appears to dig me and enjoys my company, whose hand feels so good in mine, whose smile reduces me to a puddle. I had no idea I would find him here waiting for me, and yet there he was.
The future is anybody’s guess, but I am enjoying the journey. It’s about time.
Wishing you long walks and longing glances with somebody sweet in 2013. Thirteen: it’s your lucky number.