Chocolate Fiend

My wife believes I have a chocolate addiction.

Admittedly, I do delight in consuming the finest bittersweet and milk chocolates from Holland, Italy and France. I have been known to wreak havoc on Ghirardelli chocolate squares as well. However, I turn my nose up at lesser domestic brands that are more sugar than cocoa (e.g., Hershey’s).

My new favorite store in the mall is Godiva by far. It is so bad I even signed up for their affinity program so I can be an uninhibited, card-carrying chocoholic. The rub: You must spend a minimum of $10 per visit to earn a stamp. Luckily, I have not had a problem meeting that requirement. We have gone to the store at least weekly. :ashamed:

This past weekend my wife and I were lounging in our apartment watching TV. She was sprawled out on the sofa alternating between what was on the TV and doing something on her laptop. I was situated legs akimbo in the easy chair thumbing through an electronics magazine with an occasional glance toward the TV.

Every so often I would remark to my wife how I was really in the mood for some chocolate. She suggested I walk to the nearby convenience store or supermarket to satisfy my craving. It was around 6:30PM when I started my proclamations so it was chilly, dark and damp outside and I had no desire to leave our warm confines. That did not prevent me from reminding her every so often of my chocolate craving. Irritated, she finally offered to go with me to pick up some chocolate. That was not my intent — as I truly had no desire to leave and would not ask her to do something I would not do — though I was touched by the offer.

Unfortunately, that meant I really could not continue nagging her about my chocolate craving unless I wanted a projectile hurled at me.

Several minutes passed then it hit me. I had a great idea for how to avoid similar situations in the future.

See, whenever we stock up on chocolate while at the store, it usually takes me less than a day (OK, 10 minutes) to fully deplete the stock that was supposed to last a week. You can say I lack self-control when the chocolate is conveniently located. My idea was to have my wife be the Keeper-of-the-Chocolate and provide me a little whenever I craved it. (Yes, kinda like how parents keep an endless supply of snacks for their children.) If done properly it would solve both the problem of me uncontrollably eating all the chocolate in our reserves and having to go out at inopportune moments to satisfy my cravings when there is no chocolate in the house.

She said, “OK,” with a sympathetic, pitiful look on her face as I sat beaming with my novel, long-term solution at righting one of the world’s wrongs.

Today we were trading instant messages — our preferred mode of communication during the workday — and she suggested I get acupuncture to address my “chocolate addiction”. I was beside myself with contempt. “Me! Addicted?!?” “I am not addicted,” I say even going so far as forwarding a link to the definition. “I have cravings ’cause I like chocolate, that’s all,” I say. I am getting worried because I am listening to myself and had to take a moment to consider, “Am I addicted to chocolate?” I quickly rattle off all the indicators and reasons why I do not consider myself an addict attempting to convince both of us.

I am convinced. I am pretty sure she is not.


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