In dire need of immediate chocolate fix

It was the stupidest bet I’ve ever made—just plain stupid.
A week ago Tuesday (May 31), a crew of us from work had nothing better to do during the noon hour than invent a contest that would have each of us give up something for 30 days.
I plumped up my feathers and said, “I’ll give up eating chocolate.”
I’m not even sure what the winner gets. All I know is that besides the five bucks I forked out to be in the stupid contest, I’ve already had to cough up two penalty payments.
And the farm rooster hadn’t even crowed yet when I mindlessly shoved two homemade chocolate brownies in my face and washed them down with “Caldwell Coffee” before I realized I’d cheated.
And it was 7 a.m. on June 1—Day One.
I’m about to close the door on Day Eight and my willpower already has had to be duct-taped to the wall three times to keep it together.
It would appear I have an infatuation with chocolate, or perhaps I’m in denial and I’m addicted. I’ve come to the sobering conclusion that the next 22 days are going to be the bane of my existence.
And I may be going crazy but I think “Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory” has stepped off the big screen and into my shadow as part of an elaborate Universal plot to sabotage the single greatest challenge of my entire life.
By comparison, I quit drinking alcohol three-and-a-half years ago. I drank a lot before that (more than anyone who knows me might have realized) but choosing to quit was, by far, easier for me than laying a wager that I could give up chocolate for a month.
“That was the stupidest bet I’ve ever made—just plain stupid” is my new mantra as I jump up and down in tantrum fits, kicking and screaming against the insanity of it all.
So as one can imagine, chocolate is on my mind a lot these days. And how many sleeps is there until I can sink my teeth into the solid chocolate bunny from Easter that I found still untouched in the kitchen cupboard when I was spring cleaning this past weekend?
Again, I reiterate the Universal conspiracy theory.
The last time I found “surprise chocolate” was when I was smart enough not to be in the middle of a 30-day famine. I was cleaning my closet out and found a box of “Pot of Gold” chocolates I’d forgotten to give as a gift.
It was all over in under 15 minutes. The little morsels never knew what hit them.
Hence everywhere I turn during this month-long fiasco, there it is. Choco-awareness is unrelenting. If it’s not in the candy bars dancing at me on the shelf at the grocery till, it’s the wafer covering on the bottom of nutrition bars, in cookies and muffins, flavored in coffee, and in the ice cream.
Can’t have that, can’t have that.
I swear at this moment, I can hear the bag of milk chocolate chips calling my name from the pantry. I can feel my age spots returning and my crow’s feet elongating with each passing day I’m separated from my sublime chocolate experience.
I’ve always believed that those of us who eat chocolate will live longer than those who don’t. I knew it long before the scientific studies claimed it so.
My plan always has been to become a super centenarian using chocolate as my life preserver. Frankly, I want to follow in the footsteps of Jeanne Calment, who was born in 1875. She lived to be 122 years old and ate two pounds of chocolate of week until the age of 119.
Regular consumption of chocolate has been thought to have circulatory benefits, aid in muscle recovery, be a cough preventer, anti-cancer agent, brain stimulator, and a migraine prophylactic.
Well, I’ve abstained for eight days and my cognitive abilities have wavered, I have a cough, my feet are cold, I have a headache, and a backache. In a word, I’m a wreck!
However, I am not among the 50 percent of women who supposedly prefer chocolate to sex—or at least not lately—although I do agree with the following wise words of a fellow connoisseur:
“I am a serious chocoholic. For the serious chocoholic, chocolate is better than sex. If you believe that, you REALLY need to meet that special someone who can change your mind.
“If you HAVE met that special someone and still believe that, I REALLY NEED to know where you get your chocolate!!!”
I also would now agree with the sage who figured out that if you eat a chocolate bar before each meal, it takes the edge off your appetite and you’ll eat less.
In the past eight days, I’m sure I’ve gained five pounds.
All I know for sure is that I’d rather pull stewed raisins out of a baby’s nostril and deal with poopy diapers than go without chocolate for the next 22 days.
And no, my children, this is not a shout out to you about my baby-sitting services.
Unless, of course, you arrive bearing lots of chocolate—for Day 31.

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