This year has seen a choccy-egg free Easter celebration chez Gripes_of_Wrath... Not a Miniature Heroes, Celebration, Green and Black's Organic nor humble Caramac has passed my lips.
Not a crumb.
Not a cocoaey whiff.
Nary a chocolate morsel. Nothing.
And I Am Fine.
Honestly...
Possibly, one can blame Gillian McKeith, or indeed Jamie Oliver (Turkey Twizzler, anyone?) or even at a push seeing Dawn French on telly recently (chocolate oranges clearly aren't a fruit in which one should indulge too frequently) but primarily one can blame the fat gene. I come from a long line of fat bastards and have inherited both the "fat" and "right 'orrible bastard" genes.
Lucky me.
In a lifelong competition between gravity and hope, gravity wins every time. My body now resembles a misshapen sack of mashed potato and I am, to say the least, disappointed by this. I had always hoped to be the one fat bastard who actually "wore it well". Alas, no. On the plus side, I have discovered that I actually like dried prunes, figs and apricots, biscuits are not a necessary food group and that carrots are... nowhere near as versatile as they like to think they are.
Curiously enough, I have noticed that I am less stressed now I am eating more healthily - which is a bonus for my students, I suppose - and I am saving money from not buying Scooby Snacks from the college vending machines. So, win-win, all round.
So, why do I feel that Easter just didn't happen this year? Answers on KitKat wrapper, please...
Oh, chocolate -why hast thou forsaken me?
