Chocolate Nose

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She knows chocolate is what they call fattening. She knows you aren't supposed to eat past 7. She knows bikini's look better without chocolate laden hips oozing out the sides.

She knows that no matter how long she stares at the back of the chocolate ice-cream carton the calorie count won't somehow change. She will look at the ingredients and see if she can justify the fat content by saying its "good fats". She will stare at those ingredients and allow herself to forget the main subject "chocolate is fattening" and ponder whether "all natural" might translate into "holy mother of sexy body!"

She will lick the spoon and, if even remotely successful, put the lid on the carton and refrain from eating the whole 4 servings. "4 servings?" She will ask. The head tilts sideways, staring at space, carton still in hand. This is the look of quick calculations being done in the head. She allows the sinking realization to settle for a moment when it dawns on her that she had more than one serving.

What is one serving anyway? That's like a toddler's fist size. Since I can manage to eat a toddler's fist plus the todder, that might be well over my daily "allowance".

What am I? 12? "Allowance?" See, it's words like that, that make me want to rebel and "allow" myself chocolate ice-cream just before midnight.

Now... I have a chocolate covered nose.

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