Yesterday, in an act of desperation, I sought comfort after dropping my husband off at the airport by stopping at Trader Joe's and bought a "Pound Plus" (17+ ounces) bar of Belgian Milk Chocolate. I grabbed it on impulse as I dashed through the aisle, and lay it on top of my boxes of tea and the bag of tangerines. I call it the "My Husband Just Left Again For The Field So I Want To Eat A Pound Of Chocolate Because I Don't Like Feeling Lonely," Chocolate Bar.
Now it hunkers cruelly on my kitchen counter, unopened. It taunts me. It said some very shocking things to me when I left the house this morning. That evil chunk of delicious chocolate... Oh the humanity. Last night, after my extreeeeeeeemly boring dinner of skinless chicken breast and salad, the Evil Bar of Chocolate gloated at me from the countertop, smugly emanating the radiant numminess that comprises its being, and sang to me like a siren perched on chocolate rocks licked by waves of liquid chocolate in an ocean of chocolate.
I am tempted to hide it, but I will know where it is. So I just leave it there to tempt me. Will I withstand its lure? I do not know.
More later perhaps. I'm determined to do an "Office Special" today. I haven't created anything new in a few weeks. I blame the holidays and the snow. ;)