I took the bag out of the freezer in the hopes that it would satiate my sweetest tooth, the hankering, the guilty need, the shameful craving.

And then I forgot about it, totally spaced, completely abandoned what was for an instant my only thought. My only desire.

And now it’s all back at room temp, which I guess is fine.

There’s a reason I stash the hoard in my freezer. A couple reasons, actually. First and foremost, it’s the self control thing. Forgetting about a bag of chocolate is the healthiest thing a person can do. And all kinds of stuff gets forgotten in the freezer, it’s essentially a food grave. Or better yet, food cryosis.

• “Sleep, little bag o’ green beans, until such time as we have reached a need for supplementary greens.”
• “Rest easy, coffee cubes, we won’t need you until summer.”
• “Leftover chili, you might as well have been tossed. We’ll see you when we need that Pyrex back.”

The other reason is a flavor thing. Frozen chocolate is nice. Except maybe for those Lindt truffles, those GOTTA be at room temp, or you’re gonna lose that magical chew from the interior goo. But otherwise, Reese’s and Kisses and Snickers and such all get a special somethin’ when they’re preserved at sub-zero.

I recently had a friend inform me of the Superior S’More, wherein the noble Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup surpassed the Hershey bar as the ultimate chocolate layer in a campfire dessert. One, it’s already portioned out, no need to snap your Hershey bar in half — or sometimes it’s right under a half, which leaves you with an annoyingly oversized second piece to be divvied across your sequel s’more. Two, it’s a Reese’s. It’s like the idea of a peanut butter flavored treat lost the capitalist marketing war decades ago that might have solidified its place as the better ingredient by the fire, and we all got sucked into the idea that the boring milk chocolate bar was the right choice when you’re trying to layer the most exciting thing about building a fire in the first place. BULL. A Reese’s cup is a better chocolate on its own, and continues to be better when you add marshmallow and graham crackers. Did you think it wouldn’t?

Anyway, I left the frozen bag of chocolate out and now it ain’t frozen no more. And now it ain’t hidden neither. You know how with perishable foods you’re not supposed to refreeze something after it’s already thawed? Y’know, the time it spent outside of the freezer gave an opportunity for bacteria to grow, so now you kinda need to cook it or toss it? Well, there’s this tiny little voice in my head, screaming at the top of its lungs, telling me that the same applies to chocolate. This is bad.

Is your subconscious an asshole? I swear, try as I might to be a good person, the invisible me with a megaphone who lives around my cerebellum is a total twat, and much like Kyle at the office, it is impossible not to hear him when he says anything. Sure, Kyle can at least be put to his paces when I’ve got headphones on, but the Jabras can’t drown out the voice within. And the voice is a dickhead.

And what’s more, he’s in a corrupt position of power over all my other faculties. They love his fake news so much that he always shows up with this mob mentality fueling the tank, and poor me has to deal with everything else that they don’t give a shit about, i.e. the entire future. Stomach, you’re gonna be upset. Fat, you’re gonna swell. Brain, you’re gonna feel shame. Teeth, you’re gonna marinate in a sugary stew that apparently none of you can remember will lead to decay. Tongue. Ah, damn you tongue, you’re the biggest enabler of the bunch, you’re not gonna get hurt at all and so for you it’s all “Me me me!”

Everything’s fine now, I had 2 truffles and put the bag back in cryo.

Ok, it was 3.