On Saturday Laura had a Gilmore Girls Season 7 marathon. I am not particularly familiar with all things Gilmore since I haven't really watched it much, but I was all by myself since Joey had his paintball game and so I decided that I would become a Gilmore Girls fan. And so, beginning about 10:00 a.m., we watched and watched and watched TV.
Danny made some delicious pancakes with chocolate chips in them, Miriam made a fantastic fruit salad, and on the table there were millions of snacks. By late afternoon everyone had stomach aches.
Laura made a yummy pizza for dinner around 7:00 and we munched as we watched our ninth straight hour of TV. My eyes were getting dry and bloodshot and I was beginning to lose my cognitive reasoning ability. And so that is why, as I stood up to get a napkin off the table, I grabbed 2 Dove Dark Chocolate eggs from the bowl on the table. One in my mouth for now and one in my pocket for later. My stomach hurt too badly to eat both.
So I settled in on couch, face down, and continued staring at the TV. At 7:30 I remembered the egg in my pocket but thought I was still feeling to sick to eat it. And then, not surprisingly, I forgot about it.
Three hours later at about 10:00 I got up to stretch my legs and use the bathroom. I washed my hands and returned to the couch, flopping back down on my stomach. I stretched my arms out in front of me and --
"OH MY GOSH!" My index finger on my right hand was brown.
I looked around furtively to see if anyone had noticed. I was super, super tired and couldn't imagine how in the world my entire finger had turned brown, but I wasn't liking my options. I had washed my hands, right? Suddenly I couldn't remember.
Cautiously, I sniffed my finger.
Chocolate. My finger was somehow covered in melted chocolate. I sprang up from Laura's lovely white couch and noticed that there was a large brown spot where I had formerly been lounging.
"What..." I said, staring at my finger and the brown spot. Where was this coming from?
"Oh my gosh!" Laura said as she noticed what I was looking at.
Then I remembed the chocolate egg I had put in my pocket and forgotten about. I plied my right pocket open and, sure enough, it was full of oozy, melty dark chocolate.
"You have got to be kidding me..." I mumbled, surveying the damage. The egg had melted so long ago that it had soaked through the front of my jeans and on to Laura's lovely white couch, not to mention gotten all over my index finger and, somehow, in my hair.
I went to the bathroom and tried to dig as much chocolate out of my pocket as possible but, kids, I'll have you know that getting melted chocolate out of a deep pocket in a snuggish pair of jeans is not a walk in the park. Plus I didn't want to waste an entire roll of Laura's toilet paper. So I gave up after three rounds of trying to sop up what I could.
Then I returned to the couch to survey the damage. I was so tired and so traumatized about the chocolate in my pocket that was now on Laura's couch that I stood there trembling. Finally forcing myself to at least make it look like I had it all pulled together, I asked Laura for a damp cloth and some soap so I could try to rectify the situation.
Several minutes of circular scrubbing later, there was only a faintish brown spot left on the cushion. My pocket and my hair were another story, so I lay on my back for the next two hours smelling chocolate (and getting a headache from it) and tried desperately to keep my chocolaty pocket off the couch. I succeeded, fortunately.
I forgot to try my Tide stick, though, and upon further reflection (and the fact that I am now awake) I am regretting that I did not use my Tide stick to finish off the job. I bet I could get the rest of the brown out. And I still haven't checked my jeans; I am unsure how the pocket came out of the laundry. But I definitely sprayed it down good with stain remover. Fingers are crossed.
Word to the wise: Never put chocolate eggs in your pocket to save for later.
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