Oh, also…

Around a week and a half ago, we received a Fed-ex package.  It was very mystifying since neither one of us was expecting anything.  I carried it into the kitchen and with the help of a kitchen knife it’s contents were revealed.

A banged-up box of what looked like rather expensive Italian chocolate.  A card was stuck under the ribbon, but there was no name or greeting attached. 

“Um!  Chocolate,“ I said, popping one into my mouth. Italian chocolate is fancy, but personally, I don’t find them very tasty.  It’s weird how I keep giving it a go though, like maybe this time it will magically be better.

“What are you doing?!“  Don said, staring at me horrified.

“Eating chocolate,“ I answered suddenly feeling guilty and not sure why.

“Spit it out!“ His voice rising several octaves.  “Are you nuts?  You don’t know who sent that.  It could be poisoned!“

“Don’t be ridiculous,“ I said, swallowing just to show him he wasn’t the boss of me.

“Meg, for god-sakes!“

And even though he had a point, I dug through the bruised box of chocolates looking for something that might possibly taste better than the last piece, (that I would have spit out, if he hadn’t demanded that I do, because why waste the calories on something that isn’t making my mouth happy?)

“I’m serious, Meg.  You shouldn’t eat that.“  He was sweating now, quite profusely. 

I took a jaunty bite of the new piece of chocolate.  Yuck.  It wasn’t tasty either.  “It’s free,“ I said, chewing nonchalantly.

“I can’t watch this,“ he said, like I was going to fall to the floor in spasms at any moment.

“Then don’t,“ I said like I didn’t have a care in the world.  So, he took my advice and left the room, for which I was extremely grateful.  As soon as I heard him pad down the hall and into the family room, I grabbed the garbage can from under the sink and spat the candy out.  Then I stuck my head under the faucet and rinsed it throughly. 

It’s not like he scared me or anything… Okay, well maybe just a little, but if he was a proper husband he wouldn’t have bossed me and made me swallow that first piece. 

I left the box of not-very-tasty chocolates on the kitchen counter and called a few possible chocolate senders and made discreet inquires, like, “By the way, did you send us a box of chocolates?“ 

The interesting thing was, it was sort of embarrassing when I asked.  Now, maybe I was imagining it, but there would be a slight pause as if the person on the other end of the phone was desperately trying to remember if they should have.  Was it my birthday?  Was there something wonderful that I had done that should have been thanked with a box of chocolates?

The chocolates became a great mystery to me.  Hardly anyone knows where we live.  Who had I told my address to and forgotten that I did?  Who do I know that doesn’t eat chocolate, because really, if you did, you never would have sent Italian chocolate.  Not that I have anything against Italy!  I love visiting, love their pasta, the architecture, the winding streets, the way they cook potatoes, fish, meat.  The chocolate is the only thing I’m not particularly fond of.  Which, of course, I never would have told the sender, as it is the thought that counts. 

Finally, my brain hurt from trying to figure it out, so I stopped.  I thought, whoever sent it will call to make sure they arrived safely.

But whoever is was, hasn’t. 

So, if the sender is an occasional reader of this blog, “Thank you so much for the thoughtful gift.  I do enjoy chocolates.  And the only reason I haven’t thanked you verbally, is because I don’t know who you are.“ 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Sunday, October 24, 2010 in Chewing the Fat