Such an innocuous beginning in a little cup of hot chocolate. Who could have foreseen the elevated heart rates, the increasing silliness, the sensation of being detached from our bodies, the impending prospect of crashing hard in a sugar-and-caffeine slump not an hour after the last fateful sip?
(But if I had it to do over again, I would, oh I would.)
Later that night, the big fondue set made its debut. Because hair of the dog is the only real way to get over anything.
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