It’s in the house.  I know it is.

Because my kind and generous husband brought home a chocolate bar for me.  Only I didn’t eat all of it, and he put the rest away somewhere for me to eat today.

But alas, I didn’t see where he put it.

And now it’s someplace in my kitchen, and it’s calling me.  It’s saying “Haha, I’m right here, and you-ou can’t find me.”

It’s using that sing-song voice that chocolate prefers to use when it knows that it is both wanted and safe.

I’ve searched in the cabinets.  I’ve searched in the fridge.  I’ve searched in the drawers and the freezer and then in the cabinets again.  It is nowhere to be found.

And yet I can still hear it mocking me.

I want that chocolate.  It will be MINE!

I even twice tried calling M. at work to ask where he’d put it before I remembered that he’s on course today and so not in the office.  I’m hoping he calls me on lunch from the cell.  I don’t want to call him in case he forgot to turn it off and it rings during class - always an embarrasment.

You-hoo, Chocolate, where are you?

In other news, I stayed up until nearly one last night chatting in the Edmonton wrimos chatroom (not the general nanowrimo one).  This was quite foolish and might have something to do with just how bad my head hurts this morning.  And yet I recall a time when going to bed at one in the morning was an early night.  I’m getting old, I am.