One year, I think when I was about seven, someone gave our family a box of chocolates. My mom set it on top of the TV for us to snack from.
At the time, I only liked the ones with the caramel, and occasionally a coconut-filled one, and no one told me about those maps that tell you where the goodies are.
Or maybe they started making those maps because of children like me.
I got in the habit of sneaking a nibble from a corner, and if the filling wasn’t one I liked– like if it were pink or some creepy color like that– I would feed it to the dog.
I fed our very small dog a very great quantity of Russell Stover chocolates that Christmas. (Really, they should put more caramels in those boxes, don’t you think?)
My parents found out about my interesting new habit when our dog puked chocolate all over the floor in our kitchen.
After that my parents told me about how chocolate can actually kill dogs.
And I had to stop eating from the box of chocolates.
Which probably wasn’t a bad thing. But now, every time I have a chocolate, I think of poor little Wishbone, puking her chocolate-filled guts all over our kitchen floor twenty-some years ago.
Ah, the sweet Christmas memories.
That is all.