On a chilly Saturday night, we celebrated my friend Laura’s fortieth birthday with a fire — and not just on the tres leches cake.
Laura’s husband tossed a pizza box in and the words HOT were hungrily consumed.
I spent a couple of hours fireside, warming my front and then my back and then my front and feet and back and front, enjoying the rush of hot air on my face and in my hair.
shewhodaresnothing 