Minnie will be jealous. Know what H.E. got me for my birthday besides another stuffed toy rabbit and a little something to finally get an e-book reader?

Yep. He got me chocolate! I’ll no doubt continue to live large in tiny pants, but my sweet tooth will be happy. I never used to like chocolate, but when I hit my 30s I became like every woman on earth and grew a set of boobs and a taste for chocolate. I don’t know what it is.

Naturally, I still don’t like the cheap chocolate. H.E. calls me a feinschmecker for a very good reason, the same reason he gets me the good stuff.

He got me “everyday” chocolate—Cadbury Fruit and Nut milk chocolate with raisins and almonds, made with real sugar and none of that corn syrup crap—and then he got me the good chocolate, wonderful, beautiful Lindt—three bags of three kinds of Lindor Truffles and two bars of Excellence. Lindor Truffles? I have a bag of assorted milk, dark, and white chocolates with a smooth filling; a bag of white chocolate with smooth filling; and a bag of 60% extra dark chocolate shell with a smooth filling. Excellence? I have Intense Orange extra fine dark chocolate and 70% Cocoa extra fine dark chocolate.

Maybe I’ll grow hips now … and fat fingers that don’t let my ring slip off so easily. Plus more adult acne than I know how to deal with. And a C cup. Maybe one day I’ll fit a C cup, with boobs that feed my babies chocolate milk and fudge syrup.

I’m still a little bewildered about this new taste for chocolate. I have always preferred the fruity candies—Red Vines, Twizzlers, Sour Punch Straws, Sour Patch Kids, Skittles, Starburst, Gummy Bears, Now and Laters, Laffy Taffy, Mentos, and the like. And now I have this chocolate thing to contend with, and I’m sure it’ll be my downfall. The fruity candies never had any grams of fat. The chocolate candies, on the other hand, have enough grams of fat to stuff my arteries with chocolate filling.

It is H.E.’s fault for introducing me to Lindt. Before that, the only Lindt I knew was the stuff I found in the laundry dryer filters or in my belly button when I was bored. No. This Lindt is different. This Lindt is crack cocaine. There are about 10 squares to a chocolate bar, and each square is 50-60 calories. I tell myself I’ll have only one square that day, and that one square turns into three, and then six, and then nine, and then … well, I can’t just leave that single square all by its lonesome in the package, so I have all 10 squares, and before I know it I have consumed almost 600 calories of chocolate alone, in one sitting, for breakfast.

But, oh, what a great birthday present. Hips! I’ve always wanted them and never had them, and now maybe I’ll get to grow some.

All thanks to chocolate.

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