Five Pound Box

It is December and the lovely boxes have begun to arrive. Most are delivered via United Parcel Service or the Postal Service. A few get hand to hand service by a Federal Express Courier, or even by the gift-giver themselves. Cool beans or I should say cool nuts. Nuts and chews, soft centers, caramel filled, nut covered, fruit centers, they all arrive in their best attire. Pretty boxes to decorate my office desk and filing cabinet, kitchen counter and coffee table. Some have real bows; some have a printed red ribbon on the white glossy paper covering their home of partitioned spaces and delicate tissue papers. Every year kind-hearted business acquaintances, some who are treasured friends in spite of these December deliveries, send these gifts of struggle.

Most of the time this struggle comes in one or two pound segments. Once in a while, like last Thursday, the struggle presents itself as a whopping five pound family in the same cardboard condo.  One, two and especially five pounds can be dangerous to a girl, especially a middle-aged working girl who has sworn herself  to be “the fun Grandma”.  Fun Grandmas need their energy, and too much chocolate can give them a headache.  Five pounds can turn Fun Grandmas into cranky Grannies faster than you can chew and swallow that marshmallow chewy thing covered in dark chocolate, or his cousin swathed in ground walnuts. It’s obscene what candy companies do to an otherwise perfectly lovely naked marshmallow.  Five pounds can be especially frightening when Fun Grandmas mix wine with anything chocolate.  Just ask my sister.  Oh wait, on second thought don’t ask my sister.  She was sworn to secrecy years ago, not long after she was sworn in as an attorney. At least I have legal defense should I drown a box of chocolates in the lake next week.

Why don’t Sees, Godiva, and Russell Stover come in Christmas boxes of two or even one?  Maybe they do and I just have generous business associates and friends.  It could mean hey sister sledge, five pounds means nothing to us.  Maybe when I walk away from a lunch meeting with an insurance agent they really aren’t looking at my oversized backside?   Or maybe they’ve been listening to  Christmas music on XM and they love all of mankind, and pudgy Fun Grandmas.  They may send extra because they think I will share with yarder crews and equipment operators when they come by for paperwork or paychecks.  Fat chance.

The month of December never fails to present me with this issue of boxed chocolates.  Different year, same problem. Hell, different decade, same problem. Five pounds of guilt wrapped in a pretty white box though is a bit excessive.   I will say, if it’s got the right center, guilt never tasted so good.  A cup of Baileys laced coffee and it’s all good, for an hour or so.  I am pretty sure I can have the issue narrowed down to four and a half pounds by this evening, maybe even four pounds.  I may need to wear yoga pants tomorrow.  Good thing I work at home.