My Chocolate Inspires Me ... to Eat More.
Last night, on a whim, I bought a bag of (holiday edition, snowflake-shaped) dark chocolate candies. My intention is to stash them in my cabinet and pop
They're nice-quality chocolates. Not the cheap waxy kind
They're wrapped in this foil that contains ... inspirational messages on the inside. And they drive. Me. CRAZY. I try not to read them, but it's like cracking open a fortune cookie and not reading your fortune: virtually impossible.
I have nothing against uplifting words or good advice or whatever. But the way these are presented makes me feel like I've landed in the middle of a douche commercial. They're so ... foofoo. Here are a few examples:
Joy to ... you.
Promise yourself a peaceful moment this holiday season.
Make "the season to be jolly" last all year long.
The best holiday decoration is a smile.
Feel the promise of a warm day.
... And so on. In my head I picture them being read by a soft and breathy female voice, while a woman in a fluffy sweater stares out a window into a snowy wonderland while taking a little-bitty bite out of her piece of chocolate (like anybody does that) and then closes her eyes to savor said little-bitty bite with a self-indulgent smile. Thinking about her girly chocolate and her fresh-as-the-snow vagina. You know?
It makes me want to shovel like three pieces into my mouth and chew with it wide open. And then burp without saying "excuse me."
I can't pinpoint exactly why these bug the ever-living crap out of me. Whatever it is, it's along the lines of the way I feel about soap operas (ridiculous), romance novels (cringe-worthy), and any chick-flick involving love stories (predictable and tedious). It's like ... borderline insulting. Like, don't talk to me "that way" just because I'm a woman; some women don't fit that stereotype. I would respond better, take these to heart more, if the same basic messages were phrased in the following straightforward ways:
Don't be a bitch.
It's okay to lock yourself in the closet for some peace and quiet as long as you're not there for over fifteen minutes.
'Tis the season to be jolly, but that doesn't mean you can be a bitch for the rest of the year.
If you smile, no one will notice that your tree looks like crap because the cat won't stay out of it.
Just find a heat lamp and pretend you're in the Caribbean.
And a commercial for this kind of candy would involve an average mom, hunched over a piece of candy trying to open the wrapper as stealthily as possible so shrieks of, "I want one!" and "Can I have a bite?" won't interrupt her mission which is to get the chocolate down her gullet as soon as possible because OMG, she can't wait until the kids go to bed, she has to have it right this minute!
Because to me? That's more realistic. More applicable.
Besides, I don't even own a fluffy sweater.