I'm sitting here watching the rain hit my windows with a cup of contraband at my elbow. Cocoa. Luscious, chocolaty, slightly salty cocoa. I was eating a slice of peanut butter toast, on bread I baked from my family recipe, feeling a little chilly on this gray morning, and feeling that a big something was missing. All my life, peanut butter toast and cocoa have gone together, especially when the weather is bleak. And, quite frankly, a rainy, 46-degree day on the day after the Summer Solstice? Bleak.
BabyGirl, however, really doesn't appreciate my drinking milk. For the half-year it's been since we figured out that she doesn't like it, I have avoided all milk and ice cream, and large quantities of altered dairy products like cheese and yogurt.
But this morning, I just couldn't take it. My peanut butter toast cried out for cocoa. And so I carefully poured out half a mug's worth of milk, stirred the cocoa, sugar, and salt into some water to boil, added the milk, and now, I sit, with only a small amount of guilt, drinking my half mug of rainy day cocoa.