This is a special day. A special, special day.
For one thing, it is no longer January.
For another thing, it’s February. Which, in a wacky twist of fate, comes after January.
It is the first day of Black History month.
It is the day that Mary Shelley died.
It is the day that MY DAD was born! And Clark Gable. My Dad grew a moustache once and I thought he looked like Clark Gable. I have no pictures for evidence at the moment, but I’ll get right on it.
On this day in 1861, Texas seceded from the United States. Abraham Lincoln said “over my dead body!” or something like that.
On this day in 2004, Janet Jackson bared her breast during the Super Bowl halftime show. Abraham Lincoln could not be reached for comment.
February is a short month. The shortest month of the year. Did you know that the ancient Romans gave us our calendar? And that, at first, it only had ten months? And that the last month was December, and it lasted for all of Winter? Because the Romans considered Winter to be a “monthless” season?
I would also add that it is a cheerless, bitter season of creeping, quiet desperation, but I can’t verify if the Romans would have gone that far. Probably not, considering that they had the Mediterranean.
This is also my 535th post. Five Hundred and Thirty-Five. Heavens to murgatroid. That’s a lot of drivel.
I wasn’t paying ANY attention when my 500th post went by. I’m not sure which one it was. I could count backwards, but that would require, well, counting backwards, so let’s just pretend that 535 is the REAL number to get jazzed about, mkay?
Not that, so far, I have said ANYTHING that would cause you to get jazzed IN THE SLIGHTEST MODICUM. But let me change all of that right now.
Because right now, without further ado, I give you this:
Are you not tantalized? Hypnotized? Mesmerized by the beautiful brown shades and the silky ribbon? I know I was. My heart went pitty-pat when it came in the mail from My Beloved. Then I started to open it.
Oh my stars.
Oh my stars and garters.
Oh my stars and garters and lacy unmentionables.
And then I ate one. And it was like death, but in a good way! (name that movie, just for fun?)
SALTED CARAMELS, my friends. Almost paradise. We’re knockin’ on Heaven’s door. Almost paradise. How could we ask for more?
Name that movie, too. Just for fun.
As beautiful as these beautiful beauties are, I have to confess: they tasted even better. If your most decadent experience with caramel has been a casual Twix bar here and there, let me assure you that YOU HAVE NO IDEA of what caramel was meant to be. These will ruin you for anything else. RUIN YOU.
Now, I am prepared to give away a box of these precious lovelies to one of you. AND, just because I know not everyone’s taste buds run as adventurous as some, I will let you choose whether you want salted or unsalted, milk or dark chocolate.
Or if you’ve never tasted the wonder that is a salted caramel and you think you might be ready to adjust your worldview a hair, you can get a mixture! Just calm down, put your head between your legs, breathe into a paper bag, and let me know in the comments.
That’s it! Just leave me a comment and you’ll go into the hat. Rather, your name will go into the hat.
Fran’s Chocolates, you don’t know me from a hole in your head, but I must tell you, you changed my life. Or at least my salivary glands. Thank you.
(giveaway will end on February 7th at the stroke of midnight…chocolates should arrive by Valentine’s Day, barring acts of God)