You know what’s really great about Valentine’s Day if you’re a single woman? The sales on candy (and cards I’ll never buy) that take place the day after. Typically, I avoid most sweets and chocolate thanks to that pesky annoyance called middle age weight gain (which is really a kind translation for “getting old”). As far as those syrupy cards that make me want to chew glass and consider a self-lobotomy, Hallmark has no chance of prying hard-earned money from my finger-licking hands. When it comes to chocolate, however, I’m my own weakest link. So, if only for a few days, I allow my loose hips to sink more than a few ships and indulge because I can buy twice as much at a bargain price.
But I’m as finicky about my chocolate as I am about the thread count for my sheets or what constitutes the perfect eggplant or man. Having a radar tongue, I want my chocolate and my sheets to be soft and smooth. The same can be said for a man, but not an eggplant. The last thing I want or need is to slide off any of them. Which is why I think Godiva should make a set of sheets just for me made out of their chocolate.
I can envision myself at this very moment, slathered in nougat, canoodling with that creamy cocoa, never for a moment dreaming of a white chocolate Christmas. I’d luxuriate in sugary heaven while counting my chocolate Easter eggs before they’d have a chance to hatch. If I got chilly, I’d wrap my arms around pillows of open oysters and would be allowed to almond-bark my way up any tree I wanted. For three days, my morning breath would be that of a confectionery. For the remainder of the year, my enemy would be the scale.
I could live with that.
Of course, the downside to this idea is that I wouldn’t be able to fit into anything I bought after Christmas when the shopping was good and the prices were especially right.
Gummy bears anyone?