I am a chocoholic.
There… I’ve said it.
Long ago I realized that far from being an indulgence from time to time, I was a full-blown addict. If there was chocolate in the house, I would find it, devour it, and not think twice. I have been known to eat an entire Green & Black’s Butterscotch chocolate bar in one sitting. And let’s not get started on the vast quantities of Cocoa Camino or Dagoba I can consume.
I always go to the gourmet chocolate bar aisle in the drug store, grocery, or Natural Food store. I hemm and haw over the choices, I ponder which one to try next. Chocolate shopping is an event, in my opinion, not just something to get with the groceries. I would go for a long drive just to go to a store that had chocolate I had never tried before.
If we are near a Godiva store, I have to go in and sample the latest and greatest. There is a Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory near my work. This may, or may not, be a good thing in the long run. I know where all the best chocolate shops are in every small town in our end of the province. And yes, we stop, or else.
I once spent $50 on four truffles in Las Vegas, and ate them all in an hour.
Yep. Maybe I am not just a chocoholic, but a gourmet chocoholic.
My hips and waist love this addiction, they are positively plump and happy as I munch away on the latest and greatest Fair Trade bar or truffle concoction. I lament (whilst eating said chocolate) that indeed, I must not indulge so much. For a few moments, or sometimes a few days, everything is ok, and then, well, I get another craving and my willpower goes out the window.
No, my willpower does not wear a purple spandex suit and trip over lawn furniture. My willpower is non-existent when it comes to smooth and creamy milk chocolate truffles with a ganache filling and….
……..Where was I? Oh yes. Resisting the urge.
My husband tries to help control my addiction, but he knows the best way to make me happy, or smooth ruffled feathers is to buy me chocolate. I usually get some sort of loveliness for occasions that warrant a box of chocolates, and sometimes he brings home the big Lindt milk chocolate bar when he’s feeling guilty or sheepish about something. Some girls get flowers, I get a big freakin’ bar of chocolate the length of my arm.
I don’t mind. You can’t eat roses, really.
Sometimes I over-indulge, and he tells me maybe I shouldn’t have that last piece. Save it for another day, he says. Or, “Should you buy that chocolate, dear?” This is usually followed by my best “you-are-not-serious” look of death. I try to resist, I sometimes put it back on the shelf and walk away. Usually this is when I realize I have some at home already, hiding.
I sneak chocolate home when I know he will disapprove. And probably for my own guilty realization that it is fattening and all that stuff that is bad for you. But… I can’t help it. Chocolate is a must have in my world. Especially if I am PMSing. Then, it is essential protection for those around me. I remember once my husband brandishing a bar of something-or-other in front of him like a talisman, as I was fuming about something that really wasn’t a big deal. He said “Honey, here, take this… you’ll feel better.” and then he dropped it like it was burning his hand and retreated upstairs as fast as he could.
More than anything, though, he always interjects the voice of reason when I have bought chocolate three days in a row, or have much too much in my hands to cash out with. He gives me chocolate, yes, but he also helps me put it down… or, well, wrestles it out of my grasp. (I do put up a good fight…)
So when I sneak, I make sure to sneak well. An indulgence that he might like if he finds it (hence absolving me of guilt as he eats some), or perhaps something that I can destroy all evidence of once consumed. I’ve got several hiding places, and sometimes I even forget about them and then find chocolate and go “Hey! Lucky day!”. Kind of like finding money in your Winter jacket the first time you wear it for the season. Then, I happily consume away, chocolate in hand making for a happy chocoholic.
Hiding the wrappers though, is another story. That, my friends, is where you have to get creative.