He Reads Me?

Ever have someone drop a bombshell on you - something so utterly surprising and unexpected that it leaves you speechless? 

Well, that's what my husband did to me a few days ago. We were just sitting around the house, chatting about work, life and the kid, and I mentioned something about a post I'd written. I can't even remember which one I was talking about because what he said next shocked the hell out of me. It was something to the effect of, "I remember that one."

Huh? He does? And then, even more astounding, he says, "Well, yeah, I've read all your posts."

Really? 

Let me explain why this is astonishing to me: Hubs is - to say the least - not the most avid reader I've ever met. Since I've known him, he's been very open about his dislike of the written word, not seeing the point in what he refers to as "made up stories". With the sole exception of The Adventures Huckleberry Finn, that is, which he claims is the best book ever written. A fine book, yes, but he honestly doesn't have much else to compare it to.

So, in this regard, we're pretty much complete opposites. Before my son was born, I ate, drank and slept books. I would see blocks of text in my dreams, mumble sentences from them while in a deep slumber. Ah, deep slumber - something else I haven't experienced much of these days...

Anyway, the point is I'm a bookworm and he is not. So you can imagine my surprise when he started describing some of my posts. At one point, I started back-tracking in my mind - had I written anything unfavorable, something that I wouldn't have, perhaps, if I'd known he'd been reading all along? Hmm, let me think. Well, he already knows about my mad crush on Benicio Del Toro, and other than that, there's just everyday stuff he already knows about - so no deep, dark secrets here.

Will it effect the way I write from now on? Nah - I don't think so. Unless, of course, I want to start dropping hints for Christmas or birthday presents. Or, I could start making up outrageous stories to see just how much he's paying attention. But that would be kind of cruel, I suppose.

So, maybe I'll start working on my Valentine's Day wish list and see what transpires. Not that I need lavish gifts.  Just knowing he reads and likes my blog is enough. Although, honey, if you're reading,  those chocolates from Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory are always welcome. And so is pretty much anything from Lululemon. Cause, you know, I'll need good work-out gear after purging on all that chocolatey goodness!

Thanks, love, me xoxo

Intervention, anyone?

I am struggling with an addiction. It began in my childhood and has caused me to lie and scheme, suffer from crazy withdrawal symptoms and, since I've acquired a taste for only the best, most expensive stuff available, has cost me a fair amount of moolah over the years.

I've hoarded, gorged and pilfered it. And, since I've watched my fair share of Intervention episodes I'm quite certain that all of the above factors qualify me as an addict. But on the plus side? I'm no longer in denial. Today's the day I come clean.

Ok, so I'm not talking about drugs, alcohol or anything debilitating like that. But I am seriously addicted to...chocolate! You're probably saying, who isn't, right? I'm obviously not the only person on the planet who just can't get enough of the deliriously fantastic yummy-ness that is chocolate. I mean, just look at the selection in your local drugstore - it actually pains me to have to choose just one. I do prefer anything Swiss, but I will settle for pretty much any kind.

But not these!

Nope, I can't do the Big Turk. Those are just plain crap. I have a really bad association with them. Once, when my brother & I were at home sick (but apparently not sick enough to forgo candy), my father went to the store to buy us some ginger ale and chocolate bars. Big Turk chocolate bars. The first and last time I've ever eaten one. I don't even think I got past the first bite. My brother has appropriately called them "Big Turds" ever since.

But, just as I've never forgotten how horrible they tasted, I will also never forget my first introduction to the wonderful world of Lindt chocolate. I have my brother-in-law to blame thank for that. He lives in Switzerland and the first time I met him, over 14 years ago, he came bearing a huge plastic bag filled with little individually wrapped morsels of heaven. And at the first bite I was hooked.

My husband was amazed and I think slightly mortified that I took that huge bag and stashed it away, insisting that I didn't know what happened to them, as I consumed every last mouth-wateringly delectable piece. All by myself. That was my first inkling that I had a problem. I could not be trusted around that amount of amazingly good chocolate.

But I'm dealing with it. I only buy dark, organic chocolate now to satisfy my cravings. It's not as satisfying as the "good stuff" so I'll only have a small piece at a time. It's not the same, but the thought of me being stuck in a room with my entire family reading loving, yet stern letters about my toxic eating behavior is enough to stave me off my drug of choice, at least for now.

In one of my favorite Family Guy episodes, Brian sums up pretty much how I feel: