As part of my ongoing investigation into my neighborhood chocolate maker’s strange behavior, I took my mother along with me this past weekend to His Chocolate Highness’ chocolate shop (excuse me, shoppe).
As I explained in my last post, my first theory was that The Chocolate Man was standoffish because he feared I would crush his chocolate empire. (One look at my finely-sculpted hands and the finest chocolate craftsmen turn over their cacao beans and ganache.)
Then, after my delusional fantasies subsided, I realized The Chocolate Man was rude simply because I was a woman. He only spoke to men when I was in the presence of my better-looking beau.
But today I have a new theory: he simply doesn't like me.
Mums and I walked into the shop and she began to ooh and aah and do that American thing she does of starting up conversations with people who may or may not want to have discussions with her. Note: NO ONE LIKES THIS BUT AMERICANS.
…and apparently The Chocolate Man who, all the while casting a surly, nose-and-lip curling sneer in my direction, told my mom to try his “delightful caramels.” (Imagine the ugly stepmother handing Snow White the apple.)
But revenge was mine. When the shoppegirl went to pick out my mom’s box, Mums asked what I thought of the chilli-infused truffle and I said loudly, “Eh.”
With one syllable I crushed his soul, which anyone who doesn’t like me deserves to experience.