There are a number of little things that define the feminine species. Pretty high on that list is how each of us deals with that common affliction, so poorly overlooked by the authorities – the well known dependency on chocolate.
A good friend swears by spraying such Godly delicacy with fairy washing liquid, so that any temptation of gulfing down a whole box of chocolates becomes impossible without severe intoxication (and a fortnight spent at the local hospital). I wonder how many loving friends have presented her with fine luxury delights that end up crushed at the bottom of the rubbish bin. You see, her theory is that having any stock of chocolate in the cupboard is the equivalent of feeding half a packet of food to a goldfish, an animal which is known for eating till death, rather than saving some of that flaky salty pet-shop food crap for times of scarcity.
She should know. She came up with this brilliant method one wintry night, when driving back home from the supermarket. As she was going through a dark stretch of road, surrounded by dense forest, she felt suddenly disgusted that she had just eaten half a packet of chocolate brownies. Pretty instinctively, she rolled down the window and threw the remaining cookies into the darkness.
Three hours later, when getting ready to bed, my friend felt a sudden urge for chocolate. Except there was none in the house. She tried to entertain her mind with a cup of tea, maybe some late night TV even, but the thought of chocolate lying somewhere in the forest just tormented her soul. At 1am she conceded defeat. She threw some clothes on, grabbed a torch, got the dog in the car and drove off in search of the cocoa treasure. Half an hour later, under pouring rain, her precious brownies were retrieved from under impenetrable bushes. She stopped for a moment to take the sight of such madness in, and felt the kind of humiliation men behind bars carry upon their shoulders. She was at the mercy of a sweet yet cruel drug.
They say that the true test of a chocoholic is whether one is prepared to walk under rain to source the next fix. Well, whoever came up with that one is too naïve. They clearly never heard of late night expeditions into the botanical jungle. Why I am going on about this?
Last night we had some guests over for dinner. Profiteroles, courtesy of Tesco’s Finest, was the dessert of choice. The packaging went to the bin, and with it a large quantity of rather delicious chocolate gooey sauce. And we all know how difficult it is to reconcile working from home with gooey sauces in the kitchen. So today, at 3pm, I scrambled through the bin to find said plastic packaging, and licked it to no end. The worst thing is, I don’t even feel grossed out. I think I am going to stock up on fairy liquid, though.
