I have been inspired to share this story by allaboutlemon who is asking if we were a flavor, what flavor would we be. I wrote this a few years ago for a writing challenge. I know its really out there, I was just letting my imagination run wild that day.

Slowly, I drape the gold lame across my shoulders, allowing it to fall across my breasts before carefully wrapping my round plump body in the rich intense fabric. I stand for a moment, reveling in the honor of being among the rich and famous. Then I step carefully along the silver runway rolling gracefully toward the glass stairs that lead to the podium which rises as a pedestal above the others. I am breathless as I look at the luxurious surroundings. Never did I dream of being in such a place as this with so many others of equal fame.

Once I reach the top of the stairs I carefully walk across the white satin runway. I arrive at the center, carefully taking my seat to be adored and coveted by all who behold me. Only then do I allow myself to look around, taking in the full panoramic view outside the glass case. How I wish my family and friends could see me, seated in the most prestigious palace, with the banner over my head, proclaiming me to be ‘chocopologie.’

But it hasn’t always been this way. I once hung in a humble forest, surrounded by millions of others just like me. I was cut down in my prime, split open, left for weeks in the sun to ferment. When I neared death’s door, my body baked dry by the equatorial sun, I was thrown onto a roasting pan, turning me colors I didn’t know existed. My poor body cracked open and gutted before being ground into a paste. Praying for death, I endured the atrocities. When I thought I couldn’t go on, beautiful hands began to massage me. Working me through and through, anointing me with wonderful spices.

I momentarily forgot I had been ripped from my home, never to see my family or friends again. The pain of torture slipped from my mind as the hands began shaping and forming me, rolling, kneading, and rolling some more. Finally to be left alone there on that white satiny paper. The loneliness was worse than the torture. No sound, no company, but most of all, I couldn’t move. I remember calling out, hoping someone would here me. Rescue being out of the question, companionship would afford some reprieve from the dreadful nothingness.

I lost track of time. But then I was never very good at measuring time. Where I come from, time just isn’t that important. After awhile I adjusted to my new shape and I began to enjoy my own company. Then one day, the hands returned. Carefully picking me up to…SMELL ME! As if all the previous insults weren’t enough, now I have a nose stuck up my butt, sniffing as if I’m a junk yard dog. Will the travesties never end?

After several long sucking snorts, the hands put me into a soft velvety tray. I glanced over to see several others, just like me. All of us were in a state of shock.  Not sure what to make of the endless assaults to our beings. A light clear cover is placed over us, presumably to protect us from…them, I hope.

I have no idea how long we were caged. After some of the shock wore off we began to make small talk amongst ourselves. I soon learned everyone had endured the same abuse. As you would expect we began to wonder what would become of us and why this had happened. We were all so young and innocent. Yet innocence dies a hard death, now we are mature and worldly.

After an indeterminable time frame, we ended up on a white china plate. Sitting there feeling naked and defenseless, we waited. Then the hands, again picked me up, to…you guessed it…SMELL ME! But, if that wasn’t enough, now I’m being LICKED! Honestly, the monkeys in my old neighborhood had more manners than this creature.

Then, suddenly, all the abuse stopped. I was placed on a soft velvety tray, gold robes placed by my side. This leads me to today, to this place of honor I find myself. Looking back over the hardships I’ve faced, I have to wonder, are the hardships what earned me this place of honor. Could I have made it to this place of prestige, without going through the tough times? I started as just a simple criollo bean and now I’m chocopology, the world’s most expensive chocolate. Only the richest and most discerning palate can appreciate, much less afford me. So, in reviewing my life, I’m sure you want to know, was it worth it? Why don’t you take a little nibble and find out.


Categories: Books, Entertainment, Fun, Humor, Sociology, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

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9 thoughts on “Chocopologie

  1. 🙂 Wow, this is a great story! I thought after the licking and everything, it will be over for that day… anyways for sure the following day that hand would pick you up again and finish you for good… yummmy heheehe 🙂
    Thanks for sharing this very entertaining story of being a chocopologie 🙂

  2. What a great little story! Very fun read.

  3. Reblogged this on allaboutlemon and commented:
    Check out Katrina’s Chocopologie…
    Surely you’d be entertained 🙂

  4. Found because of adollyciousirony 🙂 What a delicious trip!

  5. I love stories that have a good plot. I love stories that make you feel good about yourself but I also love stories make you walk away thinking about them. I like things that have you know something to them. I like this story

    Re first question, when people ask for candy I’m eating, I give them the flavor I don’t like…

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