My Name Is Jenny, and I'm a Chocoholic

I found these cute little Hershey's chocolate bars --tiny little squares of pure bliss. I started keeping a bag of them (or sometimes the little Dove dark chocolates) in my pantry when I read in FRENCH WOMEN FOR ALL SEASONS by Mireille Guiliano that "17 million French people eat chocolate every day..." and everyone knows that French Women don't get fat. (Ms. Guiliano wrote that book, as well.) She said that "a little square savored goes a long way," and like an idiot, I believed her. I was sure I could behave like a responsible adult and practice as much restraint as any French woman. I mean, my ancestors on my father's side were French, so it should be easy for me, right? Not only no, but hell no. The one-per-day reward for getting my writing done that I intended to allow myself, turned into two, then three, then I stopped counting. I've become a chocoholic.

Little chocolate bars are as addictive as alcohol or any drug. My friend Marcy told me that she realized she had consumed something like 8 little Snickers in one afternoon, then realized that 4 equalled one regular size bar. She would never dream of eating two big Snickers a day, but for some reason 8 tiny ones had seemed okay. Sneaky little bastards are tricky.

Tomorrow, my bag of chocolates is outta here. I'm sending it to work with my husband. His co-workers will gobble up the contents in no time flat, and they'll no longer be around to tempt me. I'll just have to put my blinders on when I pass the candy aisle at the grocery. At least until I tap into my hidden French willpower.