Man versus chocolate, the eternal struggle.
You may think I’m talking about mankind here, but, let me assure you I’m not. I’m talking about man, the gender.
(Photo credit: Andy Ciordia)
About a week ago, my parents were kind enough to bring over a few Valentine’s Day hearts filled with candy. They whispered in my kids’ ears and had them bring one to me, enthusiastically bleating, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mommy!” They brought another one for my aunt, and instructed the babies to ‘give it to Auntie next time she comes over’.
I was touched. What an adorable gesture. I thanked everyone and put the box aside, saying nothing more.
The grandparents’ visit went the way most of our visits do. They arrived, I showered, ran to the grocery store, and returned home to cook for everyone.
When it was time to leave, my mother sidled up to me, as mothers often do, whispering out of the side of her mouth, “Your father. He ate the whole box of chocolates when you were at the store.” Okay, I thought to myself. I wasn’t going to be able to eat them, anyway, due to my food allergies. Plus, I’ve watched entire containers of cordial cherries be obliterated in minutes, half-gallons of ice cream disappear, my channel get changed to Encore Westerns far too many times. I wasn’t surprised.
That’s fine. Not a big deal, I thought, and moved on.
After my parents left, and the kids went to bed, I’d taken to tidying up the kitchen. I moved the still-wrapped heart, destined for my aunt, to the counter where we keep our keys, wallets, and phones, then forgot about it.
Last Thursday, I was working in the office, when my husband strolled in, chewing.
“This chocolate isn’t that good. Where did it come from? Wal*Mart or something?” he said, sucking caramel out of his back teeth.
“What chocolate?” I asked.
“That heart your parents brought. That chocolate’s really not good,” he repeated.
“Oh, you mean the one that was for my aunt?” I asked, with a particular glimmer in my eye.
“Oh. Um. That? That was for your aunt?”
Ladies, men cannot resist candy from heart-shaped containers. They’ll tell you they can, or it’s not their style, or that they enjoy more manly treats, like cayenne pepper-flecked Cheetos or brittle served atop rough-cut sheetrock. But I will assure you, just as the sun will set this evening, they will eat the contents of that (and any) heart immediately and voraciously, without any sliver of remorse.
Don’t believe me? Leave a box out somewhere – wrapped, unwrapped, partially open so the irresistible aromas waft towards his nose – I don’t care – and simply observe. For a little extra entertainment value, put a tag on it with someone else’s name. And then kiss it goodbye.
And guys? Please don’t ever, ever question why we keep our chocolate in the car. Or buy ourselves presents. We have to.
