My Chocolate Obsession (has gotten the better of me . . . again)
Anyone who knows me, knows I am a chocoholic. Anyone who knows me well, knows which chocolate in a box to leave alone, what dessert to order for me at a restaurant if I have left the table or to warn someone who doesn't know me well to not eat the last one. Everyone will pay if that happens.
It was closing in on Christmas and I had a friend Maggie who shared my love of chocolate. I was checking out all the chocolate bars in the grocery store when I noticed a new one. One I had not tried before--the flavor--the brand I recognized as excellent. I decided to grab one for myself and one for my friend.
Once home, I placed both bars in my once-upon-a-time-secret-chocolate-drawer (The kids have flown the coop and my husband has no interest so all my chocolate is safe now). From there I put my groceries away; did some other jobs around the house and then decided to try out my new treat.
I got the bar and sat down at the dining room table. I savored a few pieces, folded the foil back around it and seeing the Christmas present I had wrapped for Maggie sitting there, thought to put my chocolate bar on top as a reminder to get her bar out when the time came to exchange.
Some days later we made arrangements to meet. This we did. We chatted, we exchanged, we went back to our respective homes.
2:00 in the morning I come suddenly wide awake and sit bolt upright in bed. Did I give Maggie my chewed-on bar or had I remembered to exchange the chocolate out? I really hoped I had been smart enough but had no recollection of doing any such thing.
I tossed and turned. Surely I had exchanged the bars. I couldn't remember it because it had been so automatic, right? Like closing a door or shutting off a light. Come on, who gives their friend a partially eaten chocolate bar as a Christmas present?
All I could envision laying there in the dark was my beautiful, kind-of-expensive chocolate bar in the trash--undeservedly so, because Maggie would assume someone at the store had snuck a bite. The horrors! I couldn't bear the thought!
The logical step was, of course, to get up and look at the other bar. The problem was that my not-so-secret-chocolate-drawer was on the other side of the room, on the other side of the bed, meaning, on my husband's side. Like, right next to him.
I couldn't stand it. The torture was keeping me awake. I grabbed up my little flashlight, carefully got out of bed, tiptoed around the bed and kneeled on the floor,. Slowly, oh so slowly, I pulled the drawer open. Good, no sound. I reached in for the one chocolate bar nestled in around other various chocolates and slowly extracted it. I felt along the length and swore. It felt solid. How could I be that stupid? I had had several days to switch them out.
Well, if the bar had been excellent, instead of just good, I'd have polished it off and wouldn't have this problem. This really isn't my fault.
The light was starting to dim and I decided I had to look. It wasn't enough to just feel. I was carefully teasing the paper back when I heard:
"You've got a serious problem. You know that, right?"
The next morning I called Maggie. "Hey, have you had a chance to try that chocolate bar yet?" I asked light and breezy.
This was met by a slight snort. "Yes."
"Let me explain," I began.
She burst out laughing. "I knew it was you! My husband told me to throw it out, someone at the store had sampled it. I said, absolutely not. This is J. R.'s handiwork. I agreed I wouldn't eat it until I found out for sure but I wasn't throwing it away because I was sure you'd done this. You would have a logical explan--well, an explanation for it.
"So, you didn't throw it out," I stated relieved.
"No. I know better than that where you and chocolate are concerned."
As a footnote, since other people have asked: Maggie is hanging on to my chocolate bar. At some point we will get together again and exchange them . . . as long as I don't eat hers.
