Wednesday, March 10, 2010

The Devil is in the details...and the Devil, is chocolate.

The definition of the phrase “the devil is in the details” reads as such: All of the meanings for the term boil down to the fact that it is often the small details of something which make it difficult or challenging. These details can prolong a task, or foil an otherwise straightforward dealing. Like many proverbs which involve the devil, it is meant to sound a note of caution. It may also be used to excuse or explain the obfuscation of an otherwise very simple project or task.

The devil in this scenario – chocolate. The small, inadequate detail that affects me is my inability to stop eating it. It prolongs my quest towards weight loss and non-fatassedness. The note of caution comes by turning it over and reading the caloric intake and inordinate grams of fat in one beautiful, dark, almond (or peanut butter) filled bar of joy. It is a convenient excuse for why I can’t button those pants or wear that shirt. It is my arch nemesis and we have an ongoing love/hate relationship no matter how hard I try to end things. I try to break up with its melting, gooey goodness by telling it hurtful things, like I’m seeing someone else (broccoli) and he is so much better for me (lies) and maybe us ever meeting was a mistake (the only mistake being that we didn’t meet earlier in life). Everytime I break off a square of a Hershey’s bar with almonds and pop it into my mouth, it is like that first kiss with a person you never would have kissed without beer goggles. When the bar is gone and all that is left are tiny slivers of left over shavings on the bossom of my shirt, it’s like the morning after you sleep with someone and instantly regret it. You feel dirty, and bloated and inexplicably in need of a shower. You swear you will never eat (drink) again, but the next night you find yourself shamefully unwrapping the silver foil, promising to eat just one square, and inevitably reliving the Coyote Ugly moment and find yourself waddling the walk of shame as you walk the empty wrapper to the garbage.

Chocolate for me is equivalent to that guy you just know is bad for you, but that you still want to call and hook up with. You know it’s going to end badly, but you want just one more moment together. You will spend days, sometimes weeks, reliving the act and wondering why you are so weak, but when the sugar hangover fades, you find yourself dialing that number again. I can’t prove it in any scientifically relevant way, but I am pretty sure that the really good chocolate (ie. Godiva, Ghirardelli) is laced with cocaine. Nothing that tastes so good and should be eaten in moderation should be so bad for you.

Once the surgery is over and I can no longer eat chocolate, is it going to be that awkward silence that you experience when you run into an ex with his new (hotter) girlfriend? Do we pretend we didn’t see each other and look the other way, or do we say hello and pretend it doesn’t hurt to see someone eating the love of my life. (Man, that sounded wrong on so many levels, but I am going to stay on course with this.) Do we sneak sideways glances at each other and relive better (albeit fatter) days? Or do we just walk away and be happy with the memories of the way things were?

Memories……only chocolate covered memmmmooorrriiieeessss…….sorry, I had to go there. Fat girls ADD and all.

Seven more days to surgery. Seven more days to have my “Fatal Attraction” style romance with my dirty, secretive lover. Seven more days to sneak in one last bar, one last syrupy kiss, and one last wobble of shame. Goodbye chocolate lover, it’s over. I am holding you back from all the other lives you could be ruining. If the phone doesn’t ring after next Wednesday it’s probably me. *whispers I love you* as I walk away…..

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