Sunday, April 18, 2004
Mature chocolate
Though no Easter bunny brings it by these days, I still get to enjoy some Easter candy. Mine's no longer in a basket, but now resides in a plastic bag, the baskets having been stashed away. Susanne has a bag of her own, labeled clearly with her name on it, of candy that was in a basket at my house. She had no basket this year. As my brother lives far, far away, my family loaned Susanne my brother's basket, which has his name in faded marker across its white plastic handle. The basket, with someone else's name on it, still manages to be more meaningful than the personalized plastic baggy.
I've been enjoying dark chocolate. It was, I suppose, one of those things where your taste buds change as you grow older; I used to simply hate dark chocolate, citing its similarity to dirt as my primary repulsion from it. Now I really enjoy it, and have decided I'd much rather eat a piece of dark chocolate by itself than milk chocolate. My milk chocolate needs nuts in it, or something like that. This new love for dark chocolate makes me feel grown up, a little like the first time you realize dressing up in nice clothes can be goood.
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