Guest Author - Lori Phillips
Everyone has her coping mechanisms. I bypass the alcohol, drugs, divorce court and even the psychiatrist’s sofa and instead play out my frustrations in bizarre ways. There are days when I lapse into a thousand absurd daydreams. But it helps me get by.
For example, when my husband gets especially horrible, I dream he is made of chocolate. Imagine a husband-shaped piece of chocolate. Soothing. Scrumptious. Portable. And if I’m especially irritated, I can bite his head off.
Do I really wish him to become an inert food substance? My friends remind me of his non-nutritive values. My grandmother pointed out how handy he is around the house. He is a handy man, I admit, but he’d be even handier if he were made of chocolate. Instead of exacerbating my PMS as he often does by asking me if I’m PMSing, his chocolaty goodness would quell my jangled nerves with a single lick. And did I mention that I could bite his head off?
Before you poo-poo my fantasy as ridiculous, consider that all men really are like chocolate. I’ll bet if you were honest with yourself, you’d realize that your past lovers could fall into one of the following categories:
For show. There’s the type of chocolate that is so pricey you only buy it to give as a gift. Mainly to impress someone with your good taste. And while we acknowledge all the premium ingredients that go into such chocolates, we’re not so in love with the actual flavor. I once had a boyfriend that I am ashamed to admit I dated mostly because all the other girls wanted him.
Better than nothing or is it? Then, there’s chocolate that is cheap and waxy. After eating it, you realize it was wholly disappointing and not worth the calories. Like a hollow chocolate rabbit. You kick yourself for not having chosen something else. A man who is cheap and lacks character is never worth your time. I know because I’ve wasted two years with such a person while turning down opportunities with better quality people.
Your favorite. The best type of chocolate is the kind you look forward to savoring all by yourself. Just the thought of it makes your heart flutter. It doesn’t matter that others may think it’s an ordinary or premium brand because to you it is completely satisfying. Heady. Delicious.
My own husband would be made of rich milk chocolate. Smooth and sweet. With plenty of nuts for a crunchy surprise. The kind of chocolate you’d like to eat every day. At the park. On the road. At a party. He’d be welcome anytime and any place.
Once I made the mistake of crossing the lines between fantasy and reality when I licked his face and purred, “Mmm, if only you were made of chocolate…” He looked at me with alarm.
“Do you want to be with a black man?”
“No,” I laughed. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind being with a black man if I wasn’t married to you, but that’s not what I meant when I said ‘if only you were made of chocolate.’”
“Oh.” His relief was short-lived. “What did you mean?”
“I meant that it would be really nice if you were made of chocolate. You’d be luscious and sweet, and I could bite your head off when I’m mad at you.”
He sat there, thoughtfully. “Well, if only you were a good beer. You’d be full-bodied with a frothy, bubbly head….and you’d sit silently in a frosted glass while I watched a football game.”
After nearly 25 years of marriage, he’d become good at lapsing into his own bizarre fantasies.
Later than night, we surprised each other with a box of See’s chocolates and a six-pack of Sam Adams ale. After all, we’re everyday sort of folks just getting by. I ate my chocolates silently while he drank his beer and watched a football game. A chocolate husband would be no good anyway, I mused. He’d melt when I snuggled in his arms, and a headless husband is just plain creepy.