For as long as I can remember, I have suffered with a severe addiction to chocolate. Yes, hello, my name is Tim and I’ve got a bad case of the chocolate jones. I just polished off a Toblerone bar an hour ago.
For me, it all started a few years back when I was accidentally exposed to some astonishingly good chocolate imported from Belgium. There were several people in the room when the box was opened though I was closest, receiving by far the greatest amount of exposure. Within minutes of contact with the substance, symptoms started to appear as my eyes glazed over and then, like some zoned-out zombie, I mindlessly placed my hand over my heart and started to recite the chocolate lovers creed.
“I believe in chocolate. A paste made of the pounded seeds of the cacao tree and blended with sugar, milk and or cream. I believe in Chocolate, one of the prime substances that make life worth living; Chocolate, mixed with truffles, nuts or caramel; often found in the shape of Santa Claus, bunnies, bars and, of late, hearts. I believe God created the universe in six days and that he used five of those days just working on the recipe for chocolate. As a protector of the chocolate way of life, I promise to, in case of attack, defend all chocolate factories, candy bar outlets and the city of Hershey Pennsylvania from all anti-chocolate factions. I pledge my life to the pursuit of chocolate everywhere.”
To those of you not afflicted with these abnormally high chocolate drives, this may all seem a bit ludicrous however, I believe one day medical science will verify that some people are born with an unusually high susceptibility to chocolate.
Only another chocolate fetishist could know the shame of this fiendish addiction. The disgrace and humiliation one feels when having to tell your own child that you bit off a piece of her Peter Rabbit chocolate Easter Bunny in a mad uncontrollable psycho-choco eating frenzy.
The poor child, sadness in her eyes as she looked at the tooth-scared remains of her bunny with half his ear chewed off – then, casting a disdainful glance at her shameless father, a telling chocolate ring moustache around his mouth, looking sheepish and ashamed, “Oh Daddy, not again!”
“I’m so sorry, honey. You know daddy can’t control himself around chocolate. Please, if you can forget this whole chocolate mess and don’t tell your mother, I’ll buy you three brand new Peter Rabbit chocolate bunnies tomorrow!”
But she just stared at me and shook her head. She’d seen it before. Her father can’t hold his chocolate. There he stands, seemingly sincere and apologetic but that glazed zombie-look in his eyes and his hollow chocolate bunny smile tell a different story. A story that one day, they’ll find her chocolate thieving father lying in a gutter stinking of cocoa butter, dressed in rags and eating a family sized Cadbury almond bar out of a paper bag.
I know this all seems over the top but, if you think I am the only one who thinks about chocolate this way, you’ve got a lot to learn. We chocolate extremists are legion and we are growing. It’s only a matter of time before we get our own political lobby and start demanding chocolate be considered a human right protected under the constitution. Remember this warning, chocolate addiction knows no boundaries. It could be your mother, your father, your neighbor or your doctor. It could even be your clergyman.