Love Like Hot Chocolate

I must be the luckiest intern in the world because the hot chocolate that happens to be a staple in the office pantry tastes like a vacation in Europe (not that I would know since I’ve never been there). It dispenses from a futuristic coffee machine that sits beside the sink, with possibly a hundred different buttons and a million variations of coffee to suit the needs of the fickle. It’s a pretty noisy machine, because when you finally find the right button to press (the one that says “Hot Chocolate”), it makes a horrific rumble and terrifying roar before a deep dark liquid pours out below.

It’s a very intense thing. Drinking hot chocolate. It smells like heaven and it looks like heaven…but it’s burning like hell. You can’t resist it though, because although you know it’ll scald your tongue and make you blister, you cannot resist a taste. Just a small sip. But the moment it touches your tongue, there’s no going back.

What does it taste like? A million different pralines melted and mixed with only the milkiest milk in the world (Milkiest milk…like sweetest sweets and saltiest salt). It’s bloody hot, but at that moment, you don’t even care. All you want is to taste the creamy sweet taste on your tongue and the smooth silk down your throat. There’s nothing like it really. Quality hot chocolate is like a pool of warmth, happiness and joy—it’s divine.

But wait a minute. After the third, or maybe the fourth gulp, you realize that the fifth tastes a little different from the rest. Perhaps the chocolate has cooled too quick in the stale office air. Perhaps it’s been tainted. Oxidised? There’s something a little off about this mouth and you cannot really tell why. You risk another sip, eager to know if it’ll taste the same. There’s a little too much chocolate at the end, you can see it clinging to the cup and marring the taste. You look at the cup in scorn and in disdain. There’s no way you’re drinking this last mouth, so you tip the cup and empty its contents into the pantry sink, the dark brown liquid staining everything in it’s way.

There’s no love like hot chocolate. Love me like hot chocolate?

Sobered Rambles

I suggest you read this post first, because only then will you truly appreciate the entertainment this one will bring.

This morning, I thought a mediocre nights sleep sobered me up enough to attempt a humorous and moderately interesting post for this website. Boy was I wrong. Here’s what happened.

I want to confess that last night I had so much wine to drink, I had (repeated use of the exact phrase in the same sentence) absolutely no idea what I was typing when I emailed the story I was working on to my editor. I also have no recollection of what I produced last night and was thoroughly afraid of opening my mailbox to review my drunken rambles this morning. 

Lucky for me, everything turned out better than expected and I have somehow or rather concluded that I am a talented drunk writer. Except I spelt Wednesday as Wedneday and missed out the e in Patek Phillipe. 

I am also still searching for my contact lenses, which I have seemed to have removed (?! I successfully complicated a simple sentence) subconsciously and left somewhere. Exactly where (repeat again!) I do not know. 

I was obviously not very sober, and made a fool out of my usual flawless (snort) writing record. Laugh all you want, alcohol makes us feel like geniuses and act like fools — and only the best of ’em are brave enough to admit (and dissect) their mistakes after sanity is regained.