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I am filled to the brim with Mackinac Island fudge, and yet I am still going to eat one more sliver. Then another. Then another.
Mackinac Island fudge is better than Rock City fudge or Little Nashville Fudge, or even hubby’s homemade fudge, which, ironically, comes from a recipe he got while visiting Mackinac Island.
In a roundabout way, it is actually hubby’s fault that I’m sitting here on Mackinac, stuffing my face with chocolate.
He postponed several of his business trips so that, as a family, we could travel with him all summer. But due to the unexpected arrival of an unwanted guest in our midst, he had to go without us.
Now, I am stuck entertaining Pseudomonas the vicious surgical bacteria, and he is stuck in Kathmandu.
He tries not to make it sound too exciting.
It’s not his fault he got bumped to first class on the 10-hour flight from London to Nepal, and had to sit next to a gorgeous, long-legged Chanel model.
I looked her up online, and I gotta say, I feel kind of sorry for her.
It has to be difficult going through life looking like that.
I mean, who is going to take you seriously when your face is absolutely flawless?
And how can she fully appreciate her stunningly flat belly if she has never known the pain of a tummy tuck that ended in a Pseudomonas infection?
Excuse me while I slice another piece of fudge.
Apparently, they are working poor hubby to death.
He is too exhausted to enjoy the fancy restaurant dinners he is subjected to every evening.
And he is so tired, the turn-down service at the hotel barely has time to place a mint on his pillow before he crashes into bed at night.
I’ve been feeling so sorry for him, that I just had to get away for a while to get my mind off of his terrible plight.
So, I waited until I had more than 48 hours between doctor appointments, loaded up most of my children (the ones who were willing to travel with a half-sick, depressed mother), and all of my medical supplies, and we hit the road.
We decided to head north and escape the unbearably hot temperatures that have been our lot for the past few weeks.
As we drove, we watched the temperature steadily drop, and when it hit 79 degrees, cheering could be heard all across the mini-van!
“Let’s get out and feel how cool it is!” my five-year-old suggested. And so we did.
Sitting on the shores of Lake Huron was not at all what the doctor ordered, but it certainly has been very good medicine.
It is immensely more therapeutic than sitting on the couch watching reruns of “Friends” for eight weeks straight.
The kids are frolicking in the water and working up appetites that are perfectly satiated with pasties and fudge.
In fact, everything about upper Michigan is looking really good right now, except for the fact that it is right next to Canada.
Years ago, I had a run-in with Canadian border patrol, and I’m a little leery of getting too close again.
For the record, just because you are allowed to cross the border without a passport, it doesn’t mean they will let you come back home without one.
And if your only proof that your children belong to you is a family picture on your digital camera, those children may or may not end up in Canadian foster care.
Suffice it to say, we are staying well below the border even though the signs to Sault Ste. Marie are beckoning from every angle.
When this article goes to print, I will be back in the sweltering cornfields of Indiana, and hubby should be safely tucked into an economy seat in the screaming children section of the plane.
I have a full pound of Rocky Road fudge that I’m saving just for him, but if he gets bumped to first again, I’m pretty sure it will be gone by the time he arrives home.
Chocolate always makes a difficult road a little less rocky.
Ginger is an author, speaker, and mother of five. Her award winning column appears weekly across the Midwest. Contact her at email@example.com.