May 2014, from Harlequin Kimani. Available in bookstores everywhere and from Amazon.com.
We all have them, we all indulge in them. And upon occasion, feel guilty that we do. Well. Maybe not. Have you ever thought about why we have guilty pleasures? If it’s not hurting anybody, why should we feel guilty for indulging in them? Who does it hurt that I have a secret addiction to ABBA or rather disco music in general. But I will tell you, the only time I indult in Disco Inferno is in my bedroom with headphones on. (Miriam: Thank you, God, for headphones and the fact Jackie’s bedroom is at the other end of the house from mine with lots of walls in between.)
There are occasions while at Starbucks I feel the need to break out with Dancing Queen. In the back room with my head stuck in the refrigerator while rotating the milk or sometimes in the back of the store looking longingly at that big bottle of white chocolate sauce thinking I just want to open it up and guzzle it down. You could probably put white chocolate on Brussels sprouts and I’d be all in. (Miriam: Jackie has a sad face. I just told her Stater Bros didn’t have white chocolate Magnum bars, so I had to bring dark chocolate bars instead. We both live for the white chocolate Magnum bars.)
I’m not embarrassed by my love for tequila and cigarettes, but why am I afraid to let people know I like BDSM, (or as a friend calls it—girly porn. He’s a man as if he doesn’t indulge). Thank goodness for Kindle. Sometime a girl has to indulge in a dirty ditty on their lunch hour. (Miriam: not looking at Jackie with judgmental eyes. Well, maybe a little.)
What else do I like to indulge in that makes me feel a teeny bit embarrassed? I baby talk to my dog. I know you’re not supposed to. You’re supposed to talk to them in clear concise language than can be understood and, depending on the dog, chose to ignore. I never do this in front of anyone else, just in the privacy of my bedroom late at night. I wrap him up in his blanket, carry him to my room and put him to bed. If he would let me, I’d wrap him up in little sailor, or pirate outfits.
I was talking to a friend about writing this blog. And she confessed to me her overwhelming obsession with the attractive, but evil Vladimir Putin. I sort of have to agree. He’s hot, but evil. (Miriam: Icky.) He was the head of the KGB. What kind of husband material is that?
I just asked Miriam about her vices and her reply, with a raised eyebrow, “I don’t have any.” Okay girlfriend, I’m telling on you. Let me say, turkey jerky and white chocolate Easter bunnies.
A little part of me still hopes Denzel Washington will divorce his wife and find me and take me away from Starbucks. Like that’s going to happen. A girl has to dream and indulge in a guilty pleasure or two.