Early one morning about two weeks ago, I stumbled blearily down to the kitchen to find an envelope and a piece of chocolate on the counter.
There are few sights in life that are any more welcome to me than chocolate. And there are few items that rouse my curiosity any more than an envelope with my name on it.
And since there are no rules (that I’m willing to recognize, anyway) about eating chocolate before breakfast, I nibbled the delightsome morsel as I opened the envelope and found a card with these words:
On the first day of Valentines, your true love gave to thee: an evening meal cooked on the night of your choice.