Well, well, well.
After last week’s unexpected hostile takeover of this column, I feel it is important to reassure everyone that I am, in fact, still alive here, still writing, and still perfectly capable of doing my job. Contrary to Malcolm’s claims, I was not “unable to function.” I was simply exercising my right to dramatically retreat under a blanket during sub-zero wind chills like any reasonable person.
And let me be very clear: I was not about to let Malcolm write another column. King Malcolm had his moment. The monarchy has been dissolved. Order has been restored.
Now, onto far more important matters.
Can we talk about the absolute jackpot of joy that is Valentine’s Day and Mardi Gras landing on the SAME DAY this year?! I don’t know who arranged this on the liturgical/romantic/culinary calendar, but I would like to personally thank them for their service.
Because honestly — what could be more beautiful than a day that combines: chocolate, love, beads, cheese dip, poor decision-making, and themed cocktails?!
It’s like the universe looked down upon us and said, “You know what these people need? Excess. But make it festive.”
Think about it. One minute you’re exchanging sweet Valentine’s sentiments, and the next you’re elbow-deep in king cake, asking yourself if it’s socially acceptable to eat a second slice before noon. (Answer: On Mardi Gras, yes. On Valentine’s Day, also yes. This is what we call synergy.)
Flowers and feather boas. Conversation hearts and hurricanes. Romance and revelry. Frankly, I have never felt so seen by a calendar.
Meanwhile, Malcolm — who last week boldly declared there was “nothing going on” — has suddenly developed very strong opinions about dinner reservations, dessert strategy, and whether queso counts as a “Valentine’s side dish.” (It does. Do not argue with me.)
I, for one, plan to fully honor both holidays with the dignity they deserve: something sparkly, something sweet, and something covered in frosting.
As we stand on the doorstep of Lent, this feels like the most appropriate send-off imaginable. One final glitter-covered, sugar-fueled hurrah before we all start talking about self-denial and personal growth.
Balance, friends. It’s all about balance.
Enjoy the celebrations, embrace the chaos, and if you see Malcolm attempting to commandeer this column again, tell him to pay more attention to the baby in his slice of cake (trust me, it always ends up in his piece 😉, and yes, he has never once noticed that he has to buy the cake EVERY time!). Live it up, folks. The alleluias are about to get repossessed.
Forever your rightful columnist,
– Maggie
