That Dark Brown
I always go running at 8am, before my husband leaves for work. I tell him it’s because I love to feel the blood gush around the soles of my feet and the crisp morning air penetrate my core. I tell him it wakes up my creativity and that every time I make something during the day, I remember the intensity of feelings I get from my morning run. What I don’t tell him is that I’m also inspired by chocolate. I’ve never had any of my senses tricked so often as I do when I eat chocolate. One nibble on a kit kat and I feel like I’ve just been ejected from a hot spring, the brown, sweet and delectable substance covering those wafers is the shield against my being burned by the spring. I feel as though I am melting like the chocolate in my mouth. I hide the wrapper, often walking 50 metres to the nearest bin to discard of it. I wait until I’ve eaten the tenth one for the day, because I have never eaten more than that, before I discard the wrappers. My husband has never seen the wrappers. He has actually never seen me eat a kit kat or a crunch. But he has seen me get up, put on my tightest jogging pants, and slip out the door. And he has seen my work, fallen in love with my body first, then my work, then me. I thought it was the one thing I’d have to hide from him for the rest of our lives, until I found his stash of kit kats and crunches.