My office mate has been giving me grief for the past hour for stinking up the office because I had onions on my sandwich at lunch. So I went out on a quest for breath mints. The remains of my sandwich are still spewing their odious fumes from the bottom of the trash can, but at least I won't have dragon breath.
I decided to try something new. Forget traditional Altoids—you know, the curiously strong peppermint in the tin from Callard & Bowser. I bought Altoids Strips, in an even-smaller tin (a tin so small it requires a choking-hazard warning label). But they pack all the punch of the original. At least they do at first taste.
There's something amazing about sticking one in your mouth, having it melt into your tongue, caressing your taste buds, transforming into a slippery liquid and sliding back, leaving you with a frosty coolness that tickles your tonsils and lingers wherever it lands. All of that from paper-thin parchment the size of a postage stamp.
(I wonder if Monica has switched.)
I decided to try something new. Forget traditional Altoids—you know, the curiously strong peppermint in the tin from Callard & Bowser. I bought Altoids Strips, in an even-smaller tin (a tin so small it requires a choking-hazard warning label). But they pack all the punch of the original. At least they do at first taste.
There's something amazing about sticking one in your mouth, having it melt into your tongue, caressing your taste buds, transforming into a slippery liquid and sliding back, leaving you with a frosty coolness that tickles your tonsils and lingers wherever it lands. All of that from paper-thin parchment the size of a postage stamp.
(I wonder if Monica has switched.)
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