I need someone to come with me and hold me up when I visit my husband’s office because he may open his mini fridge! It’s as if his kid-soul lives in there, frolicking amongst the chocolate nibs and chocolate pudding and chocolate bars and chocolate chip cookies and - wait for it, this is the real killer - chocolate milk. Nesquik! How can I go on with my day?
When that fridge door swings open, the grownup-I-can-carry-it-all exterior breaks away, leaving chocolate crumbs on the floor, and I see that he’s just a tender little boy (except for the Blue Moon). A little boy who needs a trip to the candy store or ice cream parlor to cheer him up, and it causes a flutter in my heart knowing that this sugary supply gives him comfort when it all feels like too much. There’s barely anything living or natural in there by the way, in that black box of childhood and cocoa, but it doesn’t make me mad or judge, it just makes me want to take him by the hand, hold on tight, and never let go.
p.s. I will always have a home filled with fudge.