Mmm, the snowstorm is blustering outside, and I am cozy on the sofa with tea and honey toast. Perfect. As I type this, I realize that I have found My Happy Place, and that Winnie The Pooh’s Happy Place must be very like it.
I suppose that is a more than adequate replacement for My Makeshift Happy Place: a dim bar paneled with dark wood, where each patron has a big Cosmopolitan, the freezer-chilled glass just beginning to bead with frosty drips. I don’t particularly like or dislike Cosmopolitans, but that’s what we drink there. Is it normal to have A Happy Drink?