I have a confession to make. Shhhhh. Lean in close so I donít have to say it too loud. Are you listening?
Iím a chocoholic.
I know, I know. Itís horrible, but I canít help myself. I love it all: dark, milk, white, truffles, bon-bons, filled, solid. I love all things chocolate. I crave it so much that sometimes Iím unable to stop my brain from sensing it within a reasonable radius.
I hate to say it, but that isnít even the worse part. I hesitate to tell you the rest, but I hear confession is good for the soul.
Now, understand that Iím a true blue American. I love the U.S.A. The red, white, and blue, Star Spangled Banner, hot dogs, apple pies, baseball, Chevrolets, and all that, but this last month? As Ted and I traveled throughout EuropeÖ oh my goodness. One bite of European chocolate and I thought I died and went to Heaven.
Do you think in Heaven my driveway could be paved with chocolate instead of gold? I wonder if I can put my order in with the Big Guy? Should I ask for a milk or dark chocolate pavement?
Anyway, where was I? Oh, our trip through Europe. We traveled through Switzerland, Germany, France and Belgium during what I call my chocolate time of month. Ted thinks that every time of the month is my chocolate time. Iím not sure how to take that.
When I tasted my first succulent treat, I knew I found PMS paradise. Every stop we made throughout Europe, I began to assess the chocolate delicacies available to me. Unbeknownst to Ted, I secretly purchased various delights and stashed them in my suitcase. I couldnít imagine how I would go back to plain old chocolate kisses for my PMS fix back in America.
At first this seemed a harmless secret. A Swiss Lindt Chocolate Raspberry bar here, a small box of French bon-bons there. Eventually I needed a better place to hide my stash. I purchased a lovely overnight suitcase and convinced Ted we needed it for souvenirs. I know, I know, Iím bad.
Did you know that in Belgium they spread chocolate on their toast for breakfast? Iím not kidding. In Brugge, the Chocolate City, they even have a Museum that is all about chocolate. Seriously amazing stuff. I learned so much.
As we prepared to fly home, I skillfully placed all my chocolate wonderment in the bottom of the souvenir suitcase and covered it with neatly folded clothes. Let me define bottom. I shocked myself when I discovered that two-thirds of the suitcase became dedicated to my guilty pleasure. I think my toe crossed the line to the dark side and I donít mean dark chocolate. It was at this point that I could call this a sinful act.
I panicked. I reasoned with those little creatures that sat on my shoulders. You know the ones I mean, the little red-horned pitch-forked devil on the left and the white glowing angel on the right?
I should tell Ted.
No, itís too late. Donít bother him with this silly detail.
He will go through the roof when he realizes how sneaky Iíve been.
He didnít seem to notice what you spent money on. Why would he care?
With a sly grin on my face, I completed my deceitful act and secured the zipper.
I forgot all about my dirty deed until we reached customs at the airport. To my horror, the lovely new overnight bag seemed to be the one the customs officer decided to randomly search.
The moment he opened it, the scent of my sin wafted through the air. He carefully lifted the garments and exposed the mother-load of PMS pleasure. The look he gave me screamed pure evil as he fingered my stash. I donít know what came over me. I shrieked, ďDrop the chocolate and no one gets hurt!Ē
A swarm of security officers surrounded us and dogs plunged their noses in among my unmentionables and my precious chocolate. Once they decided there didnít seem to be any drugs or bombs among my belongings, they let us go.
On the plane, Ted ignored me. I rummaged through my carry-on and pulled out my emergency stash. After all, salvaging my marriage truly qualified.
I snuggled in close and whispered, ďI love you, Babe.Ē I held up my peace offering, ďIíll shareÖĒ
You know he had the nerve to take the Swiss Lindt Chocolate Raspberry bar?
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