Christmas contraband coffee creamer coveted

Well, it’s only a matter of days now. Hours, really, if you want to get technical.

Soon and very soon, I’m going to burn through my entire supply. The whole stockpile. Poof! And then… life will take a very dark turn for PK, folks.

It’ll be a sad, sad day, one lamented until the very moment sometime in (hopefully!) September when they come back.

No, I’m not talking about the reindeer. Nor those icky elves that go on shelves. (Shudder — those things creep me out.)

I don’t mean the cookies, the carols, the Hallmark movies, the cranberry sauce, the chestnuts or the Panettone (Italian Christmas bread), either. Although, if I’m being honest, I weep for the annual loss of all the afore mentioned — save the tiny pixies that make my skin crawl.

I’m sorry Elf-on-the-Shelf enthusiasts, but what is with the weird expressions on their faces? And why are people always having them do disturbing things, such as pooping out chocolates atop peanut butter blossoms or leaving “puddles” of peas all over the floor or drunkenly puking in the master bath of Barbie’s dream home? Gross little buggers. That last one proves dads have as much a hand in this bizarre ritual as moms, am I right?

Either way.

Back to the problem at hand. Better yet, make that problem at hands — as in I wrap them both around a hot cup of Donut House Chocolate Donut flavored coffee doused with my favorite creamer: Sugar Free Peppermint Mocha Coffee Mate during pretty much every day of the holiday season from Halloween through The Epiphany.

It is perfection in a toasty cup, friends. There’s nothing like that first sip on a cold, winter’s morn to reset the psyche and bolster one’s confidence in facing the day ahead. Ahhhhhh.

But I only have about two containers of the seasonal treat left. And trust me, this java junkie can’t stretch that out much past end of month. #AddictWithAMug

Think it’s not a real problem? Tell that to my poor sister, who literally bought up DOZENS of bottles of the stuff during the holiday season just to keep her baby sibling amply supplied. She kinda my dealer, yo.

One fellow addict girlfriend and I developed an understanding years ago: She lets me know as soon as she spies a container of Peppermint Mocha and I give her the secret code at the first sign of Pumpkin Spice. Co-dependency between addicts — who ironically don’t eat sugar — well, it’s quite the perplexing little paradox.

Shoot, I even had third parties buying up every coffer they could find or e-mailing, texting or calling me to tell me where I could score, you dig?

At one point, I left sauce cooking on the stovetop and 4,297 half-wrapped presents strewn about the family room floor after getting tipped to a new shipment across town, see. I had to get there before some other nutball bought the entire kitty out from under me!

Alas, soon I’ll be forced to go cold turkey. All this in the same week Rascal Flatts announced their retirement, Pier 1 closed up shop and Prince Harry decided he and Meghan don’t need no stinking crowns.

Come on! How much can I take on a dreary January morning, people?

And suddenly, like a sunburst through storm clouds, there it was, hiding behind the crusty old eggnog carton — an unopened bottle.

If I ration carefully, my three-pack just might get me through Groundhog Day…


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