Chocolafession

“We’re taking some time apart.  We need to remember who we were before we were together. We still love each other. “

Two weeks ago I wrote these words to someone on Twitter and had immediate reactions from other friends who happened to come in mid-thread.  They responded, thinking a once rewarding relationship had suddenly turned sour.  They were right.  

I quickly posted a correction:   “Hello, rumour mill? I'd like to set the record straight - although hubs drives me crazy, I love him. CHOCOLATE and I are taking a break.”

Laugh all you want, but of all the complicated relationships I juggle, my relationship to food has to be one of the most frustrating.  Why?  Because of all the people I like to boss around in an average day, I happen to be one of the unruliest.  I know how to eat healthfully.  I ration sugar all day long.  I buy skim milk, whole grain bread and tempting produce. I read labels like a woman possessed.  Yet…

I have an alter ego.  Little Miss Mocha.  She shows up when no one is watching, or when the kids are asleep.  She leads me to do shameful things behind closed doors.  Prior to my self-staged chocolate intervention, I started every morning with coffee and a chocolate bar. Yes, at 6 a.m.  There have been days when I look at the clock and realize it is 5pm and I haven’t consumed anything that didn’t contain chocolate or coffee.  I used to rotate my trips to stores so the cashiers wouldn’t think I was a glutton.  I have bought so much of my favourite chocolate over a two week period that my huge neighbourhood department store actually sold out.  Huge.  Department store.  I discovered that leaving my stash on a running dryer creates chocolate heaven.  My favourite chocolate has 675 calories per small box.  Shamefully, I know the following: 675 x 2, 675 x 3, and (head hanging) 675 x 4.  I was sometimes happy to wake up because I could start over and didn't have to worry if it was too much chocolate in one day.

Even though we refer to stretching the truth as “fudging it”, I promise there is no fudge above.  Pudge, maybe.  Hey, I told you we’re taking time apart, would you leave a torrid affair for anything less than a good (cough, 8 lbs, cough) reason?  

(psst…hey chocolate…call me…)