You know what I hate about chocolate cake?
Absolutely nothing!
God, I love chocolate cake. I can eat it until I’m sick to my stomach, which doesn’t take much. Chocolate cake is the ultimate emotional roller coaster. One minute I’m moaning in cocoa ecstacy and ten later I’m writhing in bloated misery and caloric guilt. Kinda like sleeping with Count Chocula because he’s an erogenous zone guru, but waking up with a hangover, and pregnant with his spawn. And good luck tracking that bastard down to sue him for child-support, because the Count is a deadbeat dad.
And do I learn my lesson? No, I’m a sucker for a three-layer player and I’ll be snarfing down the next dessert plate that finds its way on my dance card.
I’m not that way with all things chocolate. I don’t like solid chocolate, like kisses, or candy bars. But I like chocolate milk, chocolate chip cookies, and chocolate pudding. I like brownies, but not fudge. Fudge is too close to solid chocolate. Does that mean I’m only half of a Hershey whore?
You know what I hate about peanut butter?
Everything.
Even the smell makes me queasy. According to my mother, my aunt baked a tray of peanut butter cookies when I was two years old and she told me I could have as many as I wanted and I did. I haven’t eaten peanut butter (at least on purpose) since. Those criss-cross patterns made with a fork on the cookies? The mark of the devil.
When I was about nine years old, I was served a peanut butter sandwich while staying at a friend’s house. Knowing me, I wouldn’t have dared say anything and forced it down. But I must have repressed the experience because I don’t remember what happened. Maybe I waited for everybody to leave the room and hid it in the garbage. Or shoved it down my pants until I could dispose of it elsewhere.
And yet, I like peanuts. Even chocolate-covered peanuts – peanut M&Ms. But I don’t like plain M&Ms.
Is this because my tastes are refined? Or just fucked up?
In either case, if you get your peanut butter in my chocolate, you can keep it.
