“That was wicked awesome!”
“He’s wicked smaaht.”
“Wicked, just wicked.”
I only spent a year in Boston, but I’ve never stopped using the term wicked. I mean, seriously how many words are so eloquent? Wicked – something that’s so good it’s almost evil. It’s the perfect adjective.
Today was my birthday and to celebrate my wonderful in laws took us to Morton’s steakhouse for dinner. There was great steak, unbelievable sides, good wine (shh I only had half a glass and it’s only my second half glass in the last 9 months.), and the most wicked desert evah.
Think chocolate. Think luscious, rich, creamy, melt in your mouth chocolate cake. You know, the kind you spear with your fork and release the molten chocolate lava trapped inside. The dark river pools around your plate mixing with the vanilla bean ice cream innocently sitting right there. The two collide and start to merge, but your fork gets there just in time, scooping the decadent mouthful right off the plate. You can’t stop the “mmmmm” that bursts from your gut, and everyone around the table laughs. But then they reach over to take a bite and you laugh, because each and everyone of them has the same reaction.
Yes. It’s that wicked.