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Chocolate.

It's everywhere.

I walk into the market one morning only to discover that I must first survive a gauntlet of festive packages filled with chocolate before I can buy my groceries. Tiny stuffed bears and kitties hold out their foil-wrapped treats, tempting me like Homer's sirens.

Heart-shaped packages offer tiny morsels of decadence for only $2.99. And blocking my path are massive bins filled with goods promising to be the perfect way to say "I love you;" they turn out to be more chocolate.

But it's morning, I tell myself. I don't need chocolate. Besides, I don't need to say "I love you." I need to say, "I'm on a diet." I already know I love me. In fact, I've been telling that fat lady inside how much I love her with chocolate for much too long. The still very-present roll around my middle is testament to my own generosity.

I give my belly a pat to bolster my convictions to stick to my diet and maneuver my grocery cart past the display. Love is not about chocolate. It's about commitment. Right?

Who am I kidding?

For me, love has always been about chocolate. I stand there remembering one of my first Valentine's Days as a teenager. (It's a good thing I buy groceries in the morning. No one gets annoyed that I'm blocking an entire aisle.) I remember the UPS guy stopping in front of our house and rolling this large box up to our door. It was so heavy he had to use a trolley. I figured my dad ordered my mom a new stove or washing machine for Valentine's Day, so I didn't even answer the doorbell.

Imagine my surprise when the entire box was filled with every kind of chocolate heart imaginable. Even though it wasn't a new stove, my dad was pretty happy with my gift, although I'm not sure which made him happier - a year's supply of chocolate or knowing my boyfriend lived too far away to take me out every weekend.

I shake off the memory and give myself a good talking-to right there on Aisle 7. Love is not about food, even if it is chocolate. It takes awhile, but I finally get the victory over my cravings and head for the fruit section. Surely there will be nothing to tempt me there.

I'm handling the apples, deciding between McIntosh and red delicious, when I see them: a pretty display of Ghirardelli chocolate bars among the fresh strawberries. "Make your Valentine chocolate-covered strawberries," reads the sign. In small print, it says, "The perfect way to say I love you."

"No!" I exclaim. "Absolutely no chocolate!"

The produce manager, who has been sorting through the bananas, looks up. He seems frightened. I realize I am talking out loud to the strawberries. I give him a terse smile and quickly move along.

Cocoa Puffs. Chocolate milk. Chocolate cake. Chocolate chip ice cream. Even the unsweetened baking chocolate tempts me as I pile my cart full of items on my list. Finally I am finished and head to the cashier. I stand in line reading about poor Jennifer's broken heart and Angelina's secret and some starlet who checked into some rehab.

Next to all those magazines full of exclusive pictures I see the shelves are loaded with, yes, more chocolate. I firmly turn my back on the bars that are now screaming my name, pay my bill and hurry out to the parking lot.

I have one more errand. I have to buy coffee at Starbucks. I wait in line, listening to the whirring of the machines and friendly chatter of the counter staff. I hold my bag of coffee and look at the menu board.

Coffee is allowed in the morning, isn't it? And Starbucks puts chocolate in its coffee. I smile. I have finally found a way to have chocolate in the morning.

And then I remember. Love is not about chocolate. Love is about keeping my promises - even the ones I make to myself.

"Skinny latte, no whip," I say to the clerk.

Chocolate is everywhere this close to Valentine's Day. But it's not on my hips. Not today.