Pleasure is difficult to come by these days. We are separated from our friends, our family, our normal routines, our jobs, and in many cases our very identities. 

And even when we can get some small bit of normalcy from a bike ride or a six-foot-away beer with a friend, a scepter of doom hangs in the air like a gauzy window curtain without the lacy edges. 

So we say bollocks to feeling guilty about any of your pleasures— as long as you ain't hurtin' anybody— as the old Black grandmamas say. No feeling guilty about Twinkies, about nachos for breakfast, about early (or late) happy hours, about nothin'! While you probably already know that I try not to feel guilty about my pleasures, even in the Before Times, and that I'm especially prone to potato chip binges and wine hangovers on a Tuesday anyway, we are here today to salute those things, not to beat ourselves up further. The world has enough to beat us down with just now. Let's not hand over any more ammo. See you in the snack aisle.