~ February 12, 2003 - 8:09 p.m. ~
Chocoholic
My first Valentine's day was pretty uneventful, mostly because I was only 11 days old at the time. But for my second Valentine's Day, my father bought be my first box of chocolates. It was a box of four Russell Stovers candies, and it came in a shiny red heart-shaped box with two red bows. There exists in my parents home a series of photographs documenting my reaction to this gift. First, there is a picture of me looking at the box. Next, I have stuck the two red bows to either side of my head, as though they were odando-style hair ribbons. I am holding up the box and smiling. The remainder of the photos depict me, in various stages of total chocolate saturation. I have chocolate on my face, my hands, in my hair, and all over my high chair. My parents debate over several points concerning this day (Did my mother try and stop my father, protesting that I was too young? Did my father ask my mother's permission before inducing refined sugar into my delicate system?), but they both agree on two points: 1) That I ate the entire box very quickly and 2) That I actually moaned with pleasure the entire time.When I was little, my father would travel all the time, coming home only on the weekends. When he'd arrive home on Fridays, I'd be waiting, but I wouldn't say anything. I would be perfectly silent, only I'd run around on all fours, pretending to be a puppy (we had a dog, a German Shepherd, that I just loved), and I'd make my father pretend he was in a pet shop, and that he was going to buy me (the puppy) for his daughter, Gina. Then, he'd bring the puppy home and open up a can of dog food for it, but the puppy wouldn't eat. He'd "offer" the puppy many different kinds of food, but the puppy refused to try any of it. Finally, he'd ask the puppy what it liked to eat, and I would smile and whisper, "chocolate." My father would burst in to laughter every time and roar "Puppies don't talk!" before offering me a chocolate bar. Every week when he came home, he'd bring me chocolate.
On the weekends when I was young, we ate dinner as a family. I was not fond of food, and did not like meat or vegetables. My father would keep a little piece of chocolate candy on hand for such occasions, and he would put it on the mantle at the begining of the meal to remind me I could eat it when I finished what was on my plate. Toward the end of the meal, he'd move it a little closer to me for every bite of detested nutrients I took, and further away for every time I lunged for the candy.
When I was eight, I went in for a yearly physical, and had my cholesterol levels checked. It was discovered that my LDLs were off the charts for a person under age 10, and I had to have a blood test done to determine the cause. When my mother took me to get the results, the doctor asked her what I generally ate in a day. "Well, my mother began, Gina drinks coffee with breakfast, and usually has a chocolate chip bagel with cream cheese, or some chocolate chip pancakes. For lunch, I pack her half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a chocolate yogurt, chocolate chip cookies, and she usually buys a chocolate ice cream cup. For dinner, she has a little of whatever we're having, but she usually just wants desert." My doctor was appalled. "Well it's no wonder her cholesterol levels are so high, if she's eating nothing but chocolate! How did this happen?" "Well doctor," my mother explained apologetically, "back when she wasn't eating much of anything, you told us to let her pick what she wanted to eat, and not to force her to have foods she didn't want." "I didn't think she'd pick all chocolate!" I was put on a high-fiber diet, riddled with prune-juice and bran in an effort to rid my system of the accumulation of fatty acids. It is interesting to note that at this time, I was severely underweight, and was only allowed to have one serving of chocolate daily. I was also made to give up chocolate for Lent for several years.
My family and friends know me well. Whenever Odella and I got to the mall, we stop at Godiva. Morgandigo took me to the Hoffman's factory for Christmas one year, and pAndi's roommate K1 gave a big thing of Ghiardelli's double chocolate cocoa mix for my birthday. Every time Tim came to visit me from college his freshman year, he'd pick me up a box of chocolates from the airport, and when my Nona came to visit me this summer, she took me to Godiva's on 5th Avenue and told me to pick out whatever I wanted. When Perdita came to stay with me, she sent me a box of truffles afterwards as a thank-you gift. Every Valentine's day, wherever he is and wherever I am, my dad sents me a dozen long-stemmed roses and a box of chocolates. Last year, he place his order through a florist and requested that I be sent a box of Godiva truffles. When the goodies arrived, there were no Godiva truffles, but chocolates of some inferior brand. I called my dad to thank him, and when he learned that I didn't get my precious Godiva truffles, he called the florist to complain, bewailing the fact that his little girl, his only daughter, was deprived of the candies she so loved, and how dare they short-change her on Valentine's day? The next day, I recieved two boxes of Godiva truffles by way of apology, making me the most envied girl on my floor. For my last play, my mother let me pick out gourmet Richart chocolates from their Manhattan studio instead of getting me flowers.
This week, the food network is doing a Valentine's special called "Chocolate Obsession." Tim and I sat glassy-eyed in front of the TV the other night, mesmerized as a French pastry-chef made a box out of chocolate, filled it with chocolate cookies, and displayed it next to a chocolate cage covered with chocolate flowers. We ripped open a box of brownie mix and gorged ourself, after placing a few phone calls and learning that there is nowhere in Manhattan that delivers chocolate to you at 2:00 am on a Monday morning.
It is by the grace of God and nothing else that I do not weigh 300 lbs.
Mmmmmm. Chocolate . . .
