I usually keep chocolate in the freezer, partly to keep it from melting, but also as a way to limit myself. It's not easy to bite into chocolate when it's frozen solid, so the candy lasts longer. And let's face it, the ONLY time my husband seems to have no control over his eating habits is when chocolate is around.
Yesterday I came across a bar of chocolate candy that had fallen behind a package of corn-on-the-cob in the freezer and was reminded oif an incident that happened a couple of months ago.
Early one morning I heard loud noises from the kitchen. I found my dear husband rolling around on the floor writhing in agony. "Omigod," I cried. "What is wrong?"
"I think I'm dying," he croaked. "Make sure you pay all the bills on time!"
I saw that he was indeed a sickly greenish pale hue and was shaking with misery. "I'll call 911," I cried, starting for the phone.
"No, wait a minute," he whispered, and with that he crawled to his feet and, holding his stomach, lunged down the hall to the bathroom. I don't even want to try to describe the sounds emanating from that room. To my great relief, he finally emerged, shaken and wreatched, but obviously alive. "I'm okay; I'm fine. Just give me a minute."
I poured myself a cup of coffee and waited.
"Well, I suppose you want to know what happened," he said.
I didn't say anything; just sipped my coffee and waited.
"In one way, it's your fault."
"MY fault?" I asked indignantly, but he shook his hand wearily.
"Never mind, never mind; that's not exactly what I meant. It all began when you bought all those chocolate bunnies in the after-Easter clearance...."
"Go on, then; explain," I said, folding my arms across my chest.
"Well, I was having a cup of coffee and working the crossword puzzle when I thought I saw something moving on the fringes of my vision. I turned, but didn't see anything, so resumed my puzzle. Then I saw it again. Carefully, without raising my eyes, I lowered the paper and turned quickly. And there, pulling himself up onto the end of the table was a chocolate bunny."
"Hey! You said you wanted to hear this."
He resumed his story. "I hollered at him. 'What in the world are you doing out of the freezer?'"
"The bunny froze in his tracks," my husband said.
"'You talkin to me?' the bunny asked."
"'Well, who else would I be talking to,' I answered. 'I don't see anybody else in here. What are you doing?'"
"'I am here to do my duty,' he said, walking toward me. 'I was born for this, you know.'
"'I have to be honest,' I continued. 'This is something I never really considered. I mean, you are chocolate, and meant to be eaten, but I never thought about your being PROUD of it.'"
"The bunny shook his head in indignation. 'There you are! People talk about death by chocolate as if it were somehow funny! They never seem to consider our point of view - for us, it's death OF chocolate; practically a religious experience, giving our all to you, so to speak.'"
"His bunny eyes widented. 'Total insensitivity on your part, if you ask me! But I am prepared to martyr myself for you, anyway!' he hollered, and started running toward me! And that's when he was joined by the other eleven bunnies! And I swear, hon, before I could do anything, every single one of them leaped down my throat, hollering 'Bunnyzai!'"
My husband leaned back in his chair, still slightly green but smiling happily at me, and I just sat there.
And that's how close my beloved insists he came to Death by Chocolate Bunny! After all this time, he seems to be all right, but I'm checking the freezer just in case there may be more chocolate fallen behind the bagels.