Confessions of a chocolate addict

I cant help it, I am an addict.

Let me begin with a story. It was the very first Valentine’s Day I was celebrating with newbie boyfriend. Now husband. (What can I say, I have led a dull life). Girls around me giggled and gushed over their gifts, jewellery, clothes, gadgets. And the man gets me One Dairy Milk chocolate. I knew then that he was a keeper.

Fast forward many years to the present. I get the bags, shoes, clothes, jewellery and I ask the husband, morosely, “Why dont you get me chocolates anymore?”

The man was obviously startled. But not surprised. Chocolates have been the kind of unhealthy obsession that has me sneaking to the fridge at midnight under the pretence of wanting to check whether I’ve turned the knobs of the gas burner off properly, with the virtuous air only such a dreary housewifely task could bring about and then skulk in corners behind doors devouring my poor child’s stash of the dark stuff.

Now given that the child has been brainwashed by over zealous teachers about the negatives of chocolates and instructed not to partake any further of such ambrosia, the opportunities of such skulking furtively moments are fast on the downswing much to my terror, leaving me to plot and plan as to how I can keep up the quota of the dark sweet stuff that needs to be mandatorily stashed in the house,

Yes, yes, research proves very nasty things about people like me, and to believe them, I;d be better off sitting on street corners shooting actual junk up my veins given that chocolate does the very same thing in smaller doses. Sweet and high fat foods (ever wonder why you sneak in that burger or that pizza even though you’ve sworn on all things holy to refrain from ingestion, seeing the colossal damage inflicted on waistline, you got your answer now) trigger pleasure chemicals in the brain, called opoids. So chocolates, and shoes and handbags, are up there in the big league, of making you a right on junkie without the needle marks to show for it, only the tyres around the waist. Cocoa contains addictive molecules called phenylethylamines (PEA) which is a speed like drug. And the effect is definitely a minor high. Ever wonder why the best intentions of dieters come to naught during PMS and a good party pack of chocolate chip icecream. For me, melted in the microwave, Any other melted chocolate icecream maniacs here, say aye!

Them poor lab rats, force feed a diet of chocolate ended up eating six times their regular intake of fat if it was cloaked in sweet chocolate. When denied these food, the subjects experience withdrawal pangs similar to those seen in people withdrawing from morphine. Yes, long stints without shopping for new clothes and bags and shoes also have the same effect on me. But at least indulging in that addiction depletes the wallet, trims the legs from all that walking around, tones the tush, and stretches the body from the climbing all over the shelves. The arms and biceps also get worked out carrying all them bags. Chocolates just go straight to my hips and sit there, smirking, as I pat myself in, inch by inch into what were once loose denims.

A very serious scientist type and an authority on the subject thunders that addictive type personalities are commonly attracted by addictive foods like chocolates, high fatty foods, and hold your breath, carbohydrate rich foods. Ever need your bread fix every morning, with dollops of butter dipped in sugary tea? Yup, yup. You’re in the club, honey.

Therefore I know now that I am a hopeless addict. Incapable of functioning normally without my daily dose of cocoa. Therefore I will not resist the craving. Let them drag me kicking and screaming to chocoholic rehab.

Till then, bring on the Lindt Dark. Deprived addicts can turn violent.