I’ve had a twinge of guilt over my indiscretion with Mr. Hershey; I don’t want the blog world thinking I’m an amoral floozy. Any concerned readers will be happy to note I’ve redeemed myself. I had naked cupcakes crying out for mercy; their maker abandoned them once the whipped cream made in their honor became too runny. That merciless woman took her wimpy whipped cream and ran straight for the coffee, Sinner. Saint that I am, I answered the cupcakes desperado with salvation. I covered their shame with a clothing of ice cream and hugged them with hot fudge. Then I gave um a kiss and made it all better. I've affectionately dubbed them double kissing on a sundae.