I love you. Please don’t ever leave me.
I know things have been rough for you lately, what with all those pesky New Year’s Resolutions. You can’t walk through a grocery store check-out line without seeing some nasty headline putting you down.
And the social media bullying? It’s just not right. #ChocolateHater tweets are a real, disturbing, international thing. What is wrong with people?
You’ll always have a safe place here, in my kitchen (or at least until I pour a nice Cabernet and crave a little nibble). I’ve always been a fan. The first cake I ever baked was chocolate, and pretty much every cookie since.
I’ve dunked apricots in you, covered pretzels and strawberries in your velvety goodness, and snuck you into places no one dreamed you’d be.
“Mmmmm,” they said as they ate my chili. “This is delicious. What kind of tomatoes did you use?”
Ha! As if temperamental tomatoes could add the depth of flavor you do.
I recently sprinkled chocolate chips into pumpkin oatmeal and, let me tell say this out loud, you were absolutely divine.
We’ve had our moments, I know. You tend to seize up on me if you think I’m not handling you just right, and no one wants to hear about the time I burnt you (oh the humanity!) and you made the whole house smell bitter for days.
But you and I both know we make a great pair. We have a rapport that grows more tender in the late hours of stressful afternoons. I look for you then, in your fancy, blue Ghirardelli wrap. When we find each other, it’s a beautiful thing.
You might be feeling down, with all those December holidays behind you and Valentine’s Day still more than six weeks away. I notice you’ve moved back into the regular candy aisle, and away from the special occasion kiosks. It’s a temporary humiliation, I assure you.
Take heart, my little friend, and know this: Somewhere, on an ordinary January afternoon, someone, whose name rhymes with Golly G and He, will spot you in a random candy dish, peel back your fancy foil, and smile.