Dirty Little Secret #46

I need a Hob Nob.

We lived in England in the late 1980s, and I became addicted to this oaty and chocolatey treat. But not the plain chocolate variety. Oh no, it's the milk chocolate for me.

You see, it's a rare night that both my children are actually in their beds and ASLEEP by 9:15. I should be all a gang-busters sewing, but instead I am idly surfing my favorite blogs and drooling a little. Not working. Just standing here, feeling tired, with my mouth watering at the idea that I could hold a package such as this in my hands.



I would eat every slightly salty, oaty little cookie.

But unfortunately for me, I only have the standard paper roll. I will go downstairs to the kichen, slowly so as not to make the stairs creak out to tiny Teddy that I am heading to the snack cupboard, and fetch two cookies. I will eat them, I will idly surf blogs for ten, twenty, or thirty minutes, I will not make any comments for no good reason what-so-ever, and then I will finally start to sew around 10 o'clock.

I will have wasted an hour, all for the want of a Hob Nob.