Rilla’s speech has rocketed forward into adorably articulated complete sentences. The other night, when Scott walked in the door after work with a grocery bag in his hand, she announced authoritatively: “Mommy! Daddy bringit you more choc’wat!”
And indeed he had, a whole sackful of my beloved Ritter Sport bars (dark chocolate with marzipan). Mmm. Two or three squares of this around three o’clock in the afternoon is better than a nap.
As Lilting House readers will remember, Scott goes to great lengths to keep me supplied, but nine bars all at once? Such superfluity of treasure! What on earth?
Turns out there was a good news/bad news story. Nine bars, because: “Honey, it was a closeout sale.”
Oh, the pain.
No, the manufacturer isn’t ceasing to make them. At least I don’t think so. (Flood of horror at the thought.) It’s just that our local grocery chain has (foolishly) decided to stop carrying them. Me say hmph.
Which is exactly, EXACTLY, what Rilla said when she requested some chocwat and I said, “Not now, sweetie.” No one taught her hmph, but she is a master. Sometimes at night she even hmphs in her sleep. Dreaming, no doubt, of mommy hoarding that bag of Ritter bars.
BE VAR VAR QIYT
Scott Peterson on my reckless snack-distribution habits
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