When asked by her four year old daughter if she could eat some of her Halloween candy right after collecting it, she had this reaction.
I hesitated when you asked me, because I am mean and evil and enjoy the sound of your head exploding, and then said yes. Of course. It's Halloween. And Leta, I don't think you have ever loved me more than you did in that moment. In fact, you took the time to hug me and tell me that I am wonderful before ripping into a full-sized Hershey's bar. It is not lost on me that you showed such affection because of a goddamn chocolate bar and not because I carried you in my womb for nine months or because I pushed your seven-pound body out my wee waw. For a chocolate bar that did not whip out its boob while standing in line at the post office because you needed to be fed. A chocolate bar that has not cupped its hands underneath your mouth as you throw up a cheese quesadilla. That being said, there is a reason you give boxes of chocolate to your loved ones on Valentine's Day and not, say, a picture of vaginal stitches next to a thought bubble that says, "I love you THIS much!"