Getting a box of Pot of Gold chocolates has been a Christmas tradition in the Suppa household for many years. Even after I moved out, I could always count on seeing the P.O.G sticking out of my stocking every Christmas.
But on the night of Christmas Eve, my cheatin' chocolate heart got the best of me.
My mother had received a box of Pot of Gold Excellence from one of her kindergarten students, and years of receiving such choco-based gifts has removed any and all of her interest in them. So I figured, she won't miss this box one bit, knowing full well that I had my very own box waiting for me upstairs.
I took the box downstairs, where I stayed up till the wee hours of Christmas morning eating from the tree of forbidden chocolate knowledge and watching the movie Gia.
A few hours later, our family sat around the tree to open presents, and sure enough, a brand new box of Pot of Gold Excellence was there in my stocking to greet me.
And that is when things went terribly wrong.
After my new tradition of taking a nap while the rest of the family goes to church, I awoke with a terrible case of the runs, which carried over through all of Christmas Day, rendering me unable to enjoy the night's meat-and-pasta-laden dinner.
Sure it could have been the half bag of BBQ Ruffles potato chips I was also eating with the chocolates, or the traditional Italian seven-fish Christmas Eve dinner, or the three bottles of Chinotto that accompanied said dinner.
But I know in my heart of hearts that it was the box of Pot of Gold Excellence, jealous that I had an affair with the other box, that did me in.
It's still sealed in my bedroom, and it will be many days before I can muster the courage to crack it open.
So a warning to my fellow Christmas-time chocoholics: never take on a choco-mistress, for your sins will be discovered, and hell hath no fury like a Pot of Gold scorned.
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