September 22, 2011 § 2 Comments
Like any normal female I have a chocolate reserve. That place in the back of the cupboard, top shelf, behind the canned beets you thought you’d someday eat, that place I hope to forget about but think about it after every meal. That’s where the stash is. It’s pretty minimal, usually a Hershey Bar, or a thing of Dove bites. It’s saved for that stupid day at work when your eyes well up, you tell yourself it’s stress or exhaustion when it’s really PMS. Or the day your car dies, or your computer dies, or your cat dies. It’s for the lonely night when all you want is to curl up with a romantic comedy just to say how much it sucks even though you secretly have been waiting to watch it. It’s right there when you need that fix, that stick-it-in-my-veins chocolate. Or at least it was, until I noticed I had a Chocolate Monster on my hands.
Mister Red and I have gotten quite comfortable with each other (translation, we’re practically living together, mom). In the beginning of our relationship I wouldn’t ever let him stay the night. Sleeping next to a partner can be habit forming. I just wasn’t ready. So we’d make-out at the door for 20 more minutes, half undressing each other, before I pushed him out. Going against every urge in my body just to stay true to the principal. Oh we were “sleeping together” we just weren’t sleeping next to each other. I guess it’s like that Pretty Woman kissing hooker thing… I was protecting my feelings.
Don’t worry, that didn’t last. We were having too much fun for me to force him east four blocks just so we could sleep in separate beds. Living within walking distance, and neither of us having roommates to worry about wasn’t the best arena to foster restraint. With nothing stopping us, the routine began. That’s what happens when you’re 27 and have healthy hormones.
A Chocolate Monster can sniff out your stash pretty quickly. At first he’d ask if I had anything for dessert, and he wasn’t talking about sex. I had a feeling about his sweet tooth so I’d try to have something on hand. It wasn’t long before we gained a certain level of comfort in each other’s homes. I didn’t have to ask for a glass of water, I could just get one for myself. He could open my fridge and freely grab a snack. Soon enough the sweet tooth discovered the chocolate.
Then I noticed the behavior of the monster showed all the signs of a midnight snacker. That’s right, the clock strikes twelve and the shirt comes off and the subject starts searching for sweets. Shirtless midnight Chocolate Monster, you could set your watch by it. He’ll settle for a substitute but he’s always asking for one thing.
I get it, I’m a smaller person, I don’t require as much fuel to sustain, so by midnight I can still go to bed and not feel hungry. He won’t ever announce it, but rather wait until I get up to go to the bathroom or get up to do something. Then the shirt comes off and he starts rummaging through my cupboards searching for his prized nectar.
Sometimes he’ll start doing the dishes to mask his true intentions with productivity, but I see his angle. I digress, if there’s anyone I want banging around half naked in my kitchen in the middle of the night it’s Mister Red.