day 22

Fuck I want a chocolate bar. Nothing scratches the itch like chocolate does. Terry’s Chocolate Orange, when you’re sad and in need of that satisfying crack. Lindt Balls if you’re feeling extra. Or GUYLIAN. Guylian is truly boujie. There’s something so wickedly indulgent and delicious about buying yourself an actual box of chocolates. Knowing that the cashier is probably assuming you’re buying it for a party, a gift. And in some ways it is, party of one, gift for moi, wham bam thank you ma’am. Every chocolate type has a personality and your choice says a hell uva lot about who you are. I would never trust someone who intentionally selects a Cadbury Curly Wurly. WhY is it so narrow. What’s inside of it? Why is it so bendy. I do not trust this chocolate bar or this human being. 

We have a pretty strong Easter tradition in my house. Growing up, my parents would make a trail from my brother and my bedroom of tiny chocolate eggs which would lead us down the stairs, to the living room and straight to the “bounty”: our very own selection of chocolate eggs/ rabbit ears/ some kind of fake grass amalgamation. I think I have so many good memories centred around chocolate, that it’s my go to quick fix if I’ve had a bad day. Because not only is it just goddamn delicious, it’s kind of like absorbing every good time I have associated with it whenever I eat it. And after all, you’re talking to the girl whose first ever email was tiff_chocolate_lover@hotmail.com. 

Also, thank you to everyone for being so goddamn lovely about yesterday’s post. It’s been so great hearing from women I’ve never met, to women I’ve fallen out of touch with, to some of my best friends. It’s a real comfort to know that it’s echoed with other people and makes me feel braver than I was before. So, thank you.

From a chocaholic feeling big time grateful and big time craving the next hit xxx 

P.S. Was this post really just an excuse to use this sensational image from my A Capella days? Maybe.