A few months ago I discovered that my friend Jane keeps a tall glass
jar in her kitchen filled with chocolate candies – bite-size Dove bars,
Mr. Goodbar, Hershey's Golden Almond, Snickers, all my favorites.
Personally I've never understood how anyone could keep chocolate out in
plain sight without consuming it. Unless you're Willie Wonka.
Although I don't keep any chocolate visible in my house, I love it when other people do. I have selected physicians based on the selection of candy in their waiting rooms. And once I discovered this treasure trove in Jane's house, I always stop by the jar on my way out like a trick-or-treater on Halloween, and toss a few chocolate candies into my purse. Just in case of emergency. Which could happen on the drive home.
As if Jane's house weren't already my favorite place to visit, she also owns a great piece of exercise equipment called a Power Plate. At some other time I can possibly explain this machine but not right now when my attention is focused on the candy jar.
I am addicted to chocolate. I don't mean that I just like to eat
chocolate, I have to eat chocolate. There is no twelve step program,
there are no support groups but I know it is genetic. My mother is also
addicted to chocolate as are two of my six little nieces. Sometimes the
four of us sit around the kitchen table in silence eating chocolate. I
am the enabler. I buy chocolate every time I pass through a duty free
store in an airport. I stop in every bakery I see to buy anything
chocolate they have. I know exactly where all the nice chocolate shops
are in New York City. You get my point?