my kind of cookie
The dinner was cleared away and the desert was served. I tried, but could not.
I whispered to Marvin, our marvelous waiter and he brought me my desert. The only real desert for me is not some overly sugared confection, but a crystal glass of amber ambrosia named Tia Maria with a steaming cup of black coffee chaser enhanced by stimulating conversations with an interesting group of people that I am so fortunate to work with.
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