So this morning I told Hubs that I would be making Christmas fudge today. While expecting a big smile of anticipation all I got were a couple of raised eye brows and a look of concern.
"Are you really sure you should make fudge this far before Christmas?"
Today is December 22!! TWO DAYS before Christmas Eve!
The problem with being married so many years is that your mate knows you...too well. Hubs knows my history with fudge.
It is time to share my Christmas Confession once again...
Ever so quietly I reached my skinny little eight-year-old arm deep into the back of our linen closet and found what I desired most. Cold, crackly foil. Under the foil were pans and pans of wonderful chocolate fudge. My mom began her Christmas baking early in the month and knew that in order to have any goodies by the special day; she would need to hide it somewhere safe from our little hands.
I don’t recall how I found my favorite brown nutty treat in among the towels and sheets, but once I discovered the secret place, I returned there very often. I only took a couple pieces at a time and then had to stick it in my pocket until I found a spot to enjoy it by myself with no danger of little brother or sister following and telling mom.
The only problem with my system, other than the crumbs in my pockets, is that I never actually looked at the pans. I just let my fingers grab a few chunks of candy at a time. It felt like a never-ending secret supply at my finger tips. Well, I guess the other snag in the growing addiction was finding a place to eat the forbidden treat. Sitting in the dog yard behind our house was really not the most pleasant place to savor my stolen fudge. My dog was my best secret keeper though.
Chocolate has been my weakness for as long as I can remember. I even shared cocoa powder with my goldfish when I was under three. They actually survived, but coughed up little brown clouds for several days!
My eighth Christmas Eve did not have a happy ending. When my mom pulled her carefully prepared pans of fudge from the linen closet, they were strangely light. I had eaten almost all her supply of Christmas fudge and she was not happy. Her punishment was perfect; in a house where every flat surface held a fancy dish of candy, bread, pie or cookies, I was not allowed to have any kind of sweets all of Christmas Day!
Today I think I've matured enough to keep myself from scarfing up the whole batch of fudge before Christmas Eve when the kids are here. I am pretty sure I can anyway.
Hoping you have a sugary sweet Christmas this year!