The Chocolate Elephant

I am not a chocoholic, let’s be clear about that from the outset. I’ve gone two years without chocolate. Not even craving it. A bit of a feat that because our household contains a lot of chocolate. The husband, unlike me, is a chocoholic and will eat chocolate even after breakfast. I have resolutely resisted the ‘have a bites’ that get thrown at me on a daily basis.
But this year, well, it’s been different this year, hasn’t it? I went out for a walk one day and found myself wheezing. And I haven’t done that in a very long while. Panic button got auto-pressed as multiple scenarios jangled in my head. A high pollen count featured, but there were other more worrying possibilities as well that I could not set aside.
Short of screeching and having a hissy fit, there was only one thing to do. Fittingly, I found myself outside a Co-op outlet. And reaching for a full-power Dr Pepper and a big slab of Marvellous Creations Jelly Popping Candy. Both taboo considering my midriff could pass for an eight-month pregnancy at the best of times, but comfort food like none other.
There are people who would sneer at this, but I think Cadbury’s Dairy Milk is a sure runner for a Nobel Peace prize for its MC JPC. Think on it. Milk chocolate peppered with jelly, Smarties and popping candy is a darn good way of shutting people up. And averting conflict. And keeping your mind from dwelling on pandemics.
In short, the JPC is a full-on sensory experience. One that I’d banished from my life with considerable difficulty last time around. And that was now back with a bang. See, the thing about chocolate is that once you have a bit, you can’t stop. I soon found myself craving chocolate at 3 am. Meals were just the precursor for the main course. I began to extend my goody bag. Peanut M&Ms walked in. Then Kinder Bueno. Behind it came Cadbury’s Mini Eggs. And, just last week, I re-discovered a Double Decker. Ohhhh!
Looks of disapproval began wafting from the husband. You see, he’s a bit of a purist. Nothing less than 75 percent cocoa will do for him. Woven somewhere in the narrative of his chocoholism is a wavering thread of ‘dark chocolate is healthy’. What I was gorging on was quite definitely not.
I felt I was back at boarding school. I began hiding my chocolate from the husband. Don’t tell him, but the bottom drawer of my desk is quite full at the moment. I would go out for a walk and bring in the contraband nestling snugly at the bottom of my bag, well above his eggs. I would wait till he went for a shower to break up my JPC into bite-sized pieces and store them in an easy to reach can.
It can’t go on. I realise that. After all, humans can’t be eleven months pregnant. And don’t be fooled by how I look – I am not an elephant. Just let me finish my current stash and I’ll be good after that. Promise!