My pal over at Hot Cross Mum posted a list of her secret guilty pleasures, basically letting us all know that you never know what goes on behind closed doors. I’m now thoroughly suspicious, actually convinced is a better word, that the whole world has a Snuggie and I’m the only one left out. (But I heard they don’t wash well! That is seriously the only reason. Especially now that it comes in leopard print.) Anyway, she invited me to share a few Fancy Guilty Pleasures, likely assuming it will involve putting on all my jewels and parading around my house reenacting Princess Di’s wedding. But, alas, I’m sorry to say that my guilty pleasures are pretty Ordinary. Regardless, here we go:

• Cool Whip. For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of residing in the Colonies, Cool Whip is non-dairy, nearly entirely made of chemicals, can be found in a tub or a spray can and is available in regular, light, fat free and low sugar formulas. And when you put a tub in the freezer, it is almost like eating vanilla ice cream, minus the calories. Find me in a hotel across the Pond? Find Cool Whip in my mini-fridge. And a spoon.

• Trashy erotica. But seriously, that’s not very exciting. What’s exciting is that I’m admitting it. C’mon, are you willing to let us all look under your bed?

• The Osmonds. The greatest band that ever lived. I’ve nothing else to say.

• Vegas! There’s two ways to do Vegas: the way I did it with my pals and sisters when I was Poor Folk and the way I do it with H. I prefer the Fancy way. Seriously. The free drinks at the blackjack table suck, but if you send the waitress to the restaurant bar with your room number, she’ll bring you back a very nice bottle of wine. Which isn’t free, but won’t give you a migraine. Which means you can return to the table in the morning and resume your boozing.

• A bath. Without children. Door locked. No bubbles, nothing Fancy. Okay, maybe a glass of bubbly, but just me, solitude and a book. I liked it before we had kids. I need it, I crave it now.

And there you have it, Fancy Pleasure. Of course, rubbing my furs on my face is also nice, but you can’t really beat a quiet bath while reading a trashy novel and the Fancy stereo gentling crooning, “He ain’t heavy…he’s my brother…”

**Progress report: Wednesday Diet Cokes: 2.5; baggage received: 1; baggage outstanding: 1!!