When I was a teenager I remember being attacked by the most vicious desire.  I was mad with need, overcome by a hormonal rage that I didn’t know how to satiate. It was the first time I’d physically longed for something so keenly my lips trembled.

I was with my aunt and she recognized my symptoms immediately. She took one look at me and knew exactly what to do. As the attack grew stronger and my legs began to buckle, she reached into her purse and pulled out a chocolate bar.

“You carry chocolate around in your purse?” I asked rather ungratefully.

She smiled in that way older women do when they know something about life their younger cohorts haven’t yet learned. “My darling there will come a day when you too will carry chocolate in your purse.”

I didn’t believe her. Young and stupid, I know. I didn’t appreciate that my beautiful and enchanting aunt was well-versed in cocoa therapy, and there was a reason she’d spent years perfecting her remedies.

I often think back to that day and remember with gratitude how she banished the monster with such casual ease…how she knew exactly what I needed and how she so readily shared her antidote without reminding me that too much of the dark jewel would find its way to my hips. She simply understood there are times in a woman’s life when only chocolate will do.

Instead of scoffing at her claim that I’d also carry chocolate in my purse one day, I wish I’d known to ask her if I’d also stash it in my desk drawer…or what about a secret hiding place in the pantry…my car’s glove box? Would I squirrel away exquisite brands and only leave Hershey for the family to share? I wonder what she would have said.

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