It's a secret. Don't tell anybody.

I am going to tell you a story. 

But you can't tell anyone else. 

Because it is a secret.

Okay?

Okay, then.

So, I got some Junior Mints in my stocking. On Christmas morn. From Santa.

I opened those Junior Mints straight away, and ate some for breakfast.

(Junior Mints are very tasty, as you know.)

Then, I put on my jeans. They were quite tight. 

Full of Christmas joy, maybe.

As I bent down to pick up my super cute green Christmas sweater, the button popped clean off my jeans. A cursory search for the button revealed nothing.

I decided to put in my contact lenses and look again.

But first, I would eat this one rogue Junior Mint, that had somehow fallen under the ironing board. 

I picked it up, and as I smacked my lips in anticipation, and brought that Junior Mint right up near my nose, I noticed some things:

First, that I am very seriously nearsighted, and that I should probly get some of that new-fangled laser surgery on my eyeballs.

And also, that thing I'd picked up? It wasn't a Junior Mint. It was my button. You know, the one from my tight pants.

And I'd nearly eaten it.

And then I thought, there is irony here. And some sort of lesson, I'm sure.

Some might call this my 'aha!' moment. An epiphany, maybe. Or perhaps even 'rock-bottom.'

But they would all be wrong.

The only thing I've learned is that the pants feel much more comfy without the offending button.

(Especially while I ate my way up the Vegas Strip, starting with 'Wichcraft and Emeril's at the MGM Grand, to Carnegie Deli at the Mirage, and finally Mesa Grill at Caesar's Palace. MMM. Vegas would be perfect if they got rid of all the pesky gambling, smokers, and other assorted nasty nastiness. More on that later, when I figure out how to get the pictures off my new camera. )

P.S. The button fell under my dresser and I thought it was another Junior Mint. 

So now, I think I should sue Justin Timberlake. 

His jeans are obviously a serious choking hazard.