truffle me once, shame on me, truffle me twice, you’re twice as nice

Today I almost ate Lindt chocolate truffles for dinner. At the mall, wishingly browsing through stores after I had gotten a watch battery replaced, I popped into the Lindt store where the Easter, egg-shaped, truffles were 75% off. I was in heaven, my favorite chocolates and at such a bargain. I picked up a bag or two. Then a cute young salesman whips in from the back and says that buying 90 bulk truffles is cheaper than buying a pre-made bag. Basically for $1.50 more I would be getting 60 more truffles. This was unbelievable. While he was bagging them I kept saying “90” out loud and shaking my head. The cute boy calmed me explaining that they would last until October. I didn’t want to tell him that that was a generous estimate in my house given that 20 or 30 might be gone by tomorrow.

I restrained myself in the mall from opening the bag and shoving a huge chocolate egg in my mouth and sucking the living day lights out of it. I was weary that chocolate juice might dribble down my chin and I would look like a ravenous dog looking for pray with crazed eyes and shopping bags. I thought strangers might get scared so I quickly walked through department stores to the car. I threw the bags on the passenger seat and grappled for a blue egg, the dark chocolate ones. I struggled with a ripped open the blue foil and then heaven hit my tongue and I could care less that I was sitting in a parking lot loving the life out of my chocolate treats when I really should be pulling out of my space. I was that girl, the one who fiddles with things in her car before she turns the key, puts the car in gear, and goes. What do those people do sitting there? What are you fiddling with? Just freaking go already. I know now. I know that they must be quelling their urge for chocolate, for truffles, for Lindt baby.

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