An Open Letter to Chocolate

The following is an open letter to chocolate.

Dear Chocolate,
You bastard.  I hate you and I want you out of my life. I am sick and tired of you seducing me with your smooth chocolate exterior and inner goodness. You think you are clever hiding nuts inside, but I'm on to your games.  All you ever do is adhere yourself to my butt, thighs and stomach and I'm sick of it.  You call to me from the drawer, from candy dishes, from the freezer.  I hear you.  Your cries have never gone unanswered, but I must break the cycle.  I know you will fight me on this, but this break-up is for real.  We are over.

I know I've tried to say good-bye before. You've wrapped yourself seductively in shiny foil wrappers.  You've even partnered with the frickin' Easter Bunny, Santa Clause, St. Valentine and, you S.O.B., you have partnered with the most evil of all holiday's, Halloween.  This is crap.  I can't fight this.  And you know it.  You think you are all cute in the shape of a bunny, like you know I can't resist your solid milk chocolate goodness as I gleefully bite your ears off.  You barbarian.  I even got a chocolate "man part" on a stick at a party once.  Pull yourself together Chocolate, stop the madness!

Like all that isn't enough, you've even enlisted the help of your friends.  You're all innocent, like, "oh your chocolate got in my peanut butter, no your peanut butter got in my chocolate!"  That is, by far, the cruelest thing you have ever done.  Go ahead, make yourself a Reeces peanut butter egg, Christmas tree or heart, hit me where I live.  This time though, this time I will be stronger.  Oh, and just go ahead and try your mint Hershey's kisses or Ghiradeli carmel filled squares.  I will not be seduced by your friends.  And, stay the hell away from my ice cream.  I'm not even kidding here.  You tell Ben & Jerry to stop calling me.  Call off your dogs!

And then, your lowest point, prostituting little girls.  That's right, those little Campfire sluts pushing their mint cookies.  They sit out front of every grocery store with their sad little eyes in their cute little outfits in the rain begging for your support.  If you don't buy any, their Mothers look at you with their judging eyes, like, "come on fat girl, don't tell me you don't eat cookies..."

Chocolate, you are the worst.  You are horrible.  You're smothering me.  Dare I say, you're killing me.  I'm defriending you on Facebook.  I'm not buying your propaganda, I don't care if you do claim to be healthier in your darkest form.  You clearly can't be trusted.

That's right, as soon as those chocolate chips are gone from the freezer (one more batch of cookies for old times sake), as soon as those M&M's are gone from Will's truck, as soon as those Riesen's are gone from my bosses secret stash, IT'S O.V.E.R.  You won't win this time.  Move on, find yourself some gym bunny that needs the extra padding so she won't freeze when she is out jogging.  Don't call. Don't show up in my cart at the store and do not even think about talking me into a hot chocolate from some random espresso stand on a cold day.  I said no.  NO means NO.

Sincerely,
Angry Pony