My Not-So Guilty Pleasure

We all have them, right? That indulgence that you don't necessarily talk about, but you enjoy all the same. Maybe it's singing along to One Direction in the car. Maybe it's spray cheese and peanut butter sandwiches. Heck, maybe it's the fact that you watch Peppa Pig when your daughter is at preschool.

My guilty pleasure is Hallmark Christmas Movies. (And maybe that Peppa Pig thing)

Except that's not totally accurate. It's not a guilty pleasure--I own the crap out of it. I love Hallmark Christmas movies. They're cheesy and cliche and silly and magical and I love them. I love how impractical and shockingly unlikely they are, but because it's Christmas, it almost seems less impossible. 

All I want to do all December long is eat Biscoff* with a spoon, straight from the jar, and watch a Merry Marathon every night after the kids are in bed.

My husband does not want this.

Too bad, sucker.**

*My spell check wants to change this word to Bischoff. What the heck is Bischoff and why does it think it's better than Biscoff? Because it's crazy.
**Just kidding, babe. I love you. Now give me the remote. The "Nine Lives of Christmas" is starting.
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