The Chocolate Walk: It's Kinda Like Mardi Gras But With Less Boobs And Beads

This being November (the month of thankfulness and all) I'd like to say a massive thank you to a couple of folks. I have to give a big shout out to the Aztec people (my new homies) for giving us the deliciousness called "xocoatl" and to Hernado Cortes and crew for adding sweeteners to it, thus giving the world chocolate.

(Mmm … chocolate) 

And many, many thanks to the Brown County Humane Society for hosting a Chocolate Walk.

(Mmm … chocolate walk) 

Let me explain the concept of the Chocolate Walk. For a nominal donation to the Humane Society, my friend Gayle and I were given classy hot pink buttons that we were to safety pin onto our person somewhere. Mine originally went on my jacket, then my shirt, then my jacket again, and back to my shirt before I finally ripped a page out of the Gayle Chocolate Walk handbook and pinned the dang thing to my purse strap.

That Gayle. She's a genius. 

We stopped along a trail of thirty-two shops, flashed our buttons and each shop gave us a tasty chocolate treat. Kinda like Mardi Gras with less boobs and beads.

Treats ranged from hot chocolate and brownies to fudge and toffee. All of it delicious. 

All. Of. It.

Not that I ate all thirty-two pieces of chocolate while on the walk. Seriously. Thirty-two chocolatey treats is a lot, even for a seasoned veteran chocolate eater such as myself.

About seven treats in, I threatened to hurt someone if I didn't get some french fries or other salty snack to offset all the sweets. Fortunately I had Gayle to wrangle me and she found a sandwich shop serving salty fries.

That Gayle. She's a genius. 

Not many of the stops on the Chocolate Walk were candy or sweet shops. Most were shops in which artisans sold their goods. I was constantly amazed by the incredible furniture, pottery, glass, jewelry, and other arts that were for sale.

All of it beautiful. Some of it quirky. I, of course, was drawn to the quirky. And I might have made a purchase.

Why hello there

Okay. I did make a purchase.

 

How can a person be expected to pass on purchasing a basset hound made of a spark plug? I mean seriously. Basset hound. Spark plug. They go together like macaroni and cheese.

 

The artist that made this basset hound called him a "bark plug". I think that is a ridiculously cheesy name and I'm not calling him "bark plug". Corny humor is like, so beneath me. 

I've chosen a much more sophisticated name: Sparky.

Sparky is a Christmas gift to myself and after December 25, he will join my Darth Vader bobble head, red Swingline stapler from Office Space, and Wonder Woman mini lego figurine as a permanent resident in my Room O' Funk.

Sparky is looking forward to it.

Art wasn't the only thing that I bought on the Chocolate Walk. Oh no. I may have sampled some chocolate peanut butter fudge at Stop #32 (the Nashville Candy Store) and immediately gone inside to buy a quarter of a pound.

I may or may not have shoved Gayle out of my way.

And it might have been half a pound of fudge. Geesh. Get off my case. If I want to buy half a pound of fudge, it's my business.

Okay, okay. It was three quarters of a pound of fudge, but not all of it was chocolate peanut butter fudge. Just half a pound was. The other quarter of a pound was a delicious dark chocolate caramel fudge with sea salt sprinkled on top.

A more sound purchase could not have been made.

Sadly, not all of my purchases were as lovely as the fudge. At one point during the day, we passed by a candy store selling a piece of bubble gum that measured three feet long.

Sign. Me. Up.

I didn't just buy a yard of gum. Oh no. I bought two yards of gum, one for each of my children. Few things say "Mom loves you, but she ate all the fudge" quite like a yard of gum.

You know what the downside to buying two yards of bubble gum? Carrying two yards of bubble gum for five hours on an incredibly narrow, incredibly busy sidewalk.

It turns out that two yards of bubble gum isn't as easy to control as one might think. I found myself apologizing profusely for accidentally whacking people with my gum on more than one occasion.

And it turns out that repeated accidental whackings will distort the shape of a yard of gum. What started off as a nice, straight piece of bubble gum had become a curved piece of gum with a couple of smashed kinks in it.

How depressing. Good thing I had a pound of fudge to cheer me up.

That's right. It was a pound. I had no self control in the fudge shop. Don't judge me. It was too dang tasty.

About twenty-four hours after the walk was over, I texted Gayle (who also purchased a pound of fudge) and asked her if she'd ripped into her fudge yet.

Her response? About five minutes after she got home.

That is exactly why we are friends.

 

Jen keeps a quirky and (sometimes) humorous blog, www.mysemitruestory.com, where she writes of her life (with occasional flashbacks to the 80s) and shares her non-award winning photos.

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