O Chocolat (or…why I am no longer allowed to eat Lindt balls)

Last week, I went to Kittery, ME with a friend.  I mainly wanted to go to Crate & Barrel.  And I wanted to go there for, of all things, dish towels and pet food bowls.

I know, right?  It’s amazing what being bored will spur you to do.

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We made a stop at the Lindt chocolate store. (YUMMY.)

I was restrained. I picked out a few single pieces and paid for them.  While I waited for my friend to make her purchase, I thought…and then said out loud, “hey, mine are paid for, which means I can eat one RIGHT NOW”.  So, I did.

Remember Augustus Gloop in the original movie when his mother is all “slow down Augustus!”?  That may or may not have been me.

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And as is frequently the case when you have a piece of chocolate with a hard shell (and a yummy creamy center…creeeeeeamy……..) bits of the shell flew off when I bit into it.  And as is frequently the case when you have a large rack, a piece of chocolate landed between my boobs.

I am accustomed to this and basically have no shame, so I fished it out and flicked it on the floor.  I had a tank top on under another shirt so I tried to look down my shirt for any other stray pieces without looking too sleazy.  (Mission accomplished!  I think.  The guy shopping in the store may have thought otherwise.)

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After a little bit we went to a seafood place for dinner.  I hit the ladies room (had to pee, my friends!).  And when I lifted up my tank top to button my pants after I was done, there was a big brown smear on my belly.  A LARGE BROWN SMEAR ACROSS MY BELLY.

I kid you not…I swear on my life…as God is my witness…THIS is how the next .05 seconds went inside my head (bear in mind that thoughts are heavily influenced by situation and MY situation was a stall and a toilet):

“How did I get poop on my belly?????….Wait, I didn’t poop…..I KNEW more chocolate fell down my tank top!!!”

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Once I figured out what really happened, I had to scrape it off (twas in a stall, remember?).  But, really?  POOP??  What.  The.  Hell.

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Believe me when I say there is no sight more sad than a middle aged woman in a bathroom stall at Weathervane scraping chocolate that had melted (and then dried) off her belly.

Well, maybe one that’s more sad –   that same woman sitting down to tell the world about how she at first thought it was poop.

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