I’ve gone a bit cuh-razy with chocolate lately.
Those of you who know me (or who follow me on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram) will already be rolling your eyes. Yeah, okay, so what else is new? The sky is blue? Greeeaaat.
But I’m even worse than usual. My daily family-sized-block-of-Cadbury-deliciousness habit isn’t cutting it. I WANT MORE.
I feel like I’ve never wanted chocolate this much before. But then… a memory flickers… something about a mega-sized block and travel and sweat and tears…
So here is a
ridiculous tale of chocolate worship. (Some of you may recognise it – I wrote this last year as a guest post for the beautiful Grace of With Some Grace fame, and republish it here with her blessing.)
I would do anything for chocolate, but I won’t do… Who am I kidding? There’s nothing I won’t do for chocolate!
Once upon a time, a friend of mine won a 10kg block of chocolate.
While I would have celebrated this win by eating the entire block myself
in one sitting, she decided to throw a party and invite everyone around to assist with the eating.
Silly girl. Silly, silly girl. But I was, of course, thrilled.
She set the date and sent out the invitations. And that was that.
The weekend rolled around, and I got ready for the party. I was SOOOO excited. Of course. Anyone would be, but my love for chocolate is beyond ridiculous.
I had recently injured my ankle (of course) so was on crutches (of course). The party was on the other side of the city, and I didn’t have a car. I had to hobble 1km on the crutches to the train station, then transfer trains, then transfer to a tram, then hobble 800m to my friend’s house.
But I was SOOOO excited. Of course. Anyone would be, but my love for chocolate is beyond ridiculous. The injury was not going to stop me.
I set off. I sweated. I was uncomfortable. I made it to the train, panting. I wasn’t offered a seat. I switched trains. I managed to get a seat. I hobbled out to the tram. I wasn’t offered a seat. I fell onto someone when the tram lurched to a stop. I was finally offered a seat. I disembarked two stops later. I neared the house. I dripped sweat, I itched, I ached. But chocolate was near! I was so close!
Almost two hours after setting off from my house, I finally made it to my friend’s house. Just in time to see her driving off.
Puzzled, I hobbled up the front steps and rang the doorbell. Perhaps she’d just ducked out to get some wine. Her housemates would be able to tell me.
After what seemed an eternity, one of her housemates opened the door. I knew her well enough to call her a friend, but not so well that she’d ever think I was there to visit her. She looked at me, confused, and said, “She just left.”
“No, she’s working. Were you supposed to catch up tonight?”
“Yeah, well, isn’t she having a party?”
“The chocolate party. Isn’t that tonight?”
“EM! You came for the chocolate party? You’re a month early! She hasn’t even got the block yet! YOU NUFFER! Oh, wait until I tell her! AND YOU’RE ON CRUTCHES! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA…” (This last bit went on for some time.)
Yep, that’s right. I went to a chocolate party A MONTH EARLY, hobbling my way there on crutches.
I left. I seethed at myself. I cried a bit. I dripped sweat, I itched, I ached. Almost two hours after setting off from my friend’s house, I finally made it home. And collapsed in exhaustion. And self-directed frustration.
But, one month later, I walked – crutches-free – to the train station, again completed the journey, and attended the party. The actual party. With actual chocolate.
And chocolate and I lived happily ever after.
What’s the silliest thing you’ve ever done for chocolate?