Dove

I have a cold and the hot water heater is busted. I was working from home today in bed, with cats, Kleenex, a computer and the phone there with me...and nobody in earshot to hear my old man noises. I have felt better.

I just emerged from my bed / workspace to get some tea and chocolate from the kitchen. Throat Coat is hitting the spot, and so is the Dove. I don't care for chocolate much, but I have a soft spot for the Dove.

One of my favorite memories of a spring spent in New Hampshire is of sitting on the porch glider on my day off with a Dove ice cream bar and reading the National Enquirer. It was a banner year for tabloids. The presidential race was heating up. The Democratic front runner, Gary Hart, was about to come not only to the town where I lived but to the hotel where I worked. Dozens of reporters descended on New Hampshire in advance of his arrival. The day they showed up, the Miami Herald broke the story of Hart's infidelity. A week later, he chose our hotel as the spot where he announced he would give up the campaign.

All that summer I had tabloid tales of Donna Rice, Fawn Hall and Jessica Hahn (as well as Iran Contra, which people should have cared more about) to keep me occupied in my spare time. That and the guy upstairs. I never met him, but he would blast CSNY's Dark Star every single night when he got home.

When I am eating a Dove chocolate, that's what I'm thinking about.

You're free to think of something else ;)