Chocolate

February 15th is a wonderful holiday. It is Half-Price Chocolate Day. I stumbled up on it almost accidentally, a joke gone terribly right. We have never done Valentine's Day, or any of the other commercially mandated holidays. Ours has been a practical romanticism, a fun sense of romance. Toys and silliness more than hearts and roses. But I have a terrible sweet tooth, at least when it comes to chocolate. D knew I was happy with him when I told him I loved him as much as chocolate. That I considered him a solid chocolate bunny- the same to the core and all wonderful.

One year, after about a decade of ignoring it, Valentine's Day was coming up, and in a kind and conscientious manner, D asked if I wanted something for the holiday. I said no, it was silly and commercial. But the next day, I jokingly mentioned that well... he could get me chocolate Today, since it was not any kind of holiday, and chocolate would be half price. The only thing better than chocolate, is half price chocolate, because then you get twice as much! He knew I was joking, but he called me on it anyway and brought home a box of Godiva's. Very funny, and wonderful, and we nibbled lusciousness. The next year, he did it again, so instead of just a joke, it was a sweetly romantic, and economical gesture. The next year, a tradition. So, February 15th is Half-Price Chocolate Day. Godiva's isn't as good the past few years, so now he has to find another place to get chocolate in February. I await developments.

My love of chocolate goes deep. Mom tried to keep chocolate chips for baking, but I ate them. So did my father, and although he denied eating them, he also regularly lied all the time, and I was meticulously truthful with anything checkable. He was blamed, I was not suspected. I scarfed chocolate chips in a spoonful of peanut butter when mom went to pick up dad at work. I washed the spoon and put it away. Mom also made wonderful chocolate chip/walnut/chow mein noodle candies that I could never resist. Not that I ever actually tried. I loved my chocolate Easter bunny, and yes, bit off the ears first. I will lie, steal and commit violence for Chocolate.

While in Saudi, our chow halls were distant and far worse than usual Army fare. When the PX's opened, we ripped into the alternate food. Canned chicken spread, Pringles and Nutella. Nutella is chocolate hazelnut spread, paradise in a jar. I ate it by spoonful or fingerfull. I kept a jar under my bunk for those late night scud attacks. Or just in case I got hungry.

When I worked at a nursing home, transitional care, there was between Thanksgiving and Christmas a plethora of family gifts of chocolate. The boxes would appear as if by magic at the nurses' station. I tried to ration myself, as I had no self control when it came to good chocolate. This last Christmas in the recovery room was dangerously chocolatey. The last week I gorged, made myself sick on it, because it was omnipresent, all good, all different. I vowed every day to slow down, and wound up stuffing in fistfuls by the end of the day. I am rarely so utterly undisciplined. But those cherry and blueberry chocolates were calling to me with their smooth little voices....

Chocolate is my guilty not-terribly-secret secret. Not terribly guilty either. Tea, beer, chocolate. My impractical, frivolous joys. When I furtively whisper to D that I want (chocolate), I get to see his dimple. Joy.