The problem with having relationships is that they find out your weaknesses rather pathetically easy. That is, if you're me.
See, I like dark chocolate. A lot. And, foolishly, I outed myself last night with my post about Godiva's treat. No worries, my syster and wife already knew this from about three dozen years ago, so it wasn't news to them in any way. They both know that the easiest way to make me do something utterly foolish (like have another birthday, or clean the house) is to dangle a Hershey's Special Dark bar in front of my face and I turn into a gibbering idiot, much like most other men do when presented with a bare breast.
So a few nights ago, my Significant Other decided to make a different desert. When she cooks she COOKS, and always finishes the meal off with a desert. Sometimes lemon bars, sometimes a cake or brownies, but always something tasty and sweet. This time she went too far--she found my other secret vice.
Rice Krispie Treats.
Yes, those ubiquitous crunchy sticky squares. Those pale little lightweights. I am utterly enthralled by them. Show me a beautiful pair of legs and a pile of Rice Krispie Treats and you're gonna get to watch my head explode, because I'm gonna have an awfully difficult time knowing where to look. Offer me a pan of warm RKT's and hand me the keys to a Yugo, and I'll be puttering to work inside a pregnant skateboard. Point out a huge fat man on top of a haybale in a field, show me the dangerously aggressive bull in the field with him, then show me the Treats and I'm gonna be carrying that fat barstard back to his New York brownstone on my back.
It's sad, to have an addiction this bad. But it's genetic--I got it from my grandfather, whom I never called "Old Gaffer." My PawPaw over in Mississippi was a fiend for RKTs, and being not only an Old Southern Man, a country boy heart-and-soul AND a pastor of a tiny Primitive Baptist Church, he had a certain reserve, a deep respectability that he wore like a comfortable old suit, but RKTs...good lawd. He'd walk a thousand miles to eat one. And I'd have been right there behind him, slavering.
So, I'm not to blame.