Home >mint-lounge >features >DANCING DIVORCEE: An affair with chocolate

Know what’s better than a shrink? A best friend? A self-help book? A pedicure?—Chocolate. These delicious companions, sent straight from the heavens have been a constant source of instant joys and small pleasures throughout that time of bleakness, which didn’t seem to end. Here are my favourite kinds of chocolate, which have walked along the way with me.

Tiny round chocolate balls that would slightly stain the finger as I popped them into the mouth, when I walked aimlessly down winding streets, furiously, planning the ‘what next’ in my life.

Licking the wrapper of a just-melted chocolate bar, clean. More comforting than dusting the room and definitely more pleasurable.

The tub of chocolate ice cream, which was rescued from the freezer to go along with the 3 am can’t-sleep-because-I-am-suddenly-so-terrified-by-this-adult-life panic attack. After an hour, the fears subside and the ice cream vanishes, the stomach is now happy and sleep comes snuggling along.

The ones whose centres are filled with alcohol. Shots of happiness, especially on dry days. And cry days.

Getting up to a yawning Sunday and looking at the miserable certainty of nothing to do. Then, suddenly, impulsively deciding to bake a chocolate cake. Home delivery of ingredients, internet recipes, some loud music and off-tune singing-whisking. Soon, the air gets a warm, fuzzy glow. It’s impossible to feel down when the house smells of cake. Tip: Save the batter bowl to be licked at night.

The sticky jaw toffees of distraction. Pop one in and spend hours getting it out of your teeth with your tongue. Trust me, it’s a way better occupation than revisiting why you said ‘Yes’ to the Ex that first time.

The warm donut with the chocolate slightly melted. As bites paint my cheeks and lips brown and I chew sugared softness, the sadness feels sweeter.

When the friend comes over for a good cry about my life, hot chocolate to cheer her up. Tell her it’s okay, I will get better and I am glad she is there to cry for me.

The imported ones sent by aunts, uncles, cousins who still think of me as that little girl they left behind, when they caught the first flight to go ‘abroad’. Smoother, creamier, richer, decadent, these gift package come via air mail when they hear of trouble. And yes, it does frighten the blues away, even if it’s just for a few minutes at a time.

The tiny 5 bar I bought before I went to court. A guarantee of a small treat at the end of what would be a horrible day. The feel of it coming with me, the promise of better things, soon.

The brownie whose centre is warm and bursting with gooey, chewy chocolate. It’s called the million dollar brownie and on some days I know it is worth a lot more.

The chocolate love affairs. May they never end.

Dancing Divorcee is a weekly happy, sad, funny, obnoxious blog on the misadventure called divorce. Arathi Menon is a dancing divorcee who also blogs, writes, tweets and repairs brands.

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