There’s a hole in my heart. My heart of chocolate. I hadn’t even opened the red velvety box full of William Carlos Williams truffles before the truffle thief struck. Smack in the center: three missing. Telltale cocoa prints dusting the lid.
This is of course not the first time my chocolate has been raided nor will it be the last I’m sure, though I have gotten clever about hiding it over the years. As soon as one spot was discovered, I’d find another, always having to stay a leap ahead of the chocovore grunting around the house.
This time I wasn’t swift enough. I left the early Valentine’s heart in its purple plastic bag in the glasses cupboard for one night and boom, the chocolate detector started clicking like mad. To make matters worse, the violated heart was rewrapped and put back in the bag, back in the cupboard as if it had never been found. No apology, no Sprungli’s pralines poem taped to the door:
This is Just to Say
I have eaten
that were in
you were probably
they were delicious
and so cold
I have been close to a chocolate divorce before. The last time a friend brought me a box of Sprungli’s pralines I was unfortunately out of town and not only did Truffle Thief consume the entire box and remove the evidence, he never even said a word about our friend, his visit or the thoughtful present of coveted Swiss chocolates.
Eight months later our friend came through town again and stopped by. How’d you like those chocolates, he inquired. Chocolates? What chocolates??? Truffle Thief started to shift uncomfortably and mumbled something lame about me being gone.
Let me tell you, gone never looked so attractive. The luxury of living alone again hit me like a truck full of Mars bars. To have one’s chocolate and be able to eat it too, is that really so much to ask? Especially since I am one to share or was once upon a time.