Forbidden Chocolate

August 23, 2026

“You shouldn’t make cookies untouchable.” ~ Mitch Hedburg

On the long list of things that could get me in trouble as a husband and father, the most frequently checked box is chocolate thievery.

There are three characters in this play, and for some reason I always play the villain. My fellow thespians are two beautiful women, one close to my age, and the other a young maiden. We live together in a country littered with mountains and trees. Our castle rests in a flat prairie with green grass and two apple trees to boot.

Our life is a good one. The wife creates all day, using fabric, yarn, and paper to make everything from hand-sewn princess dresses, to fancy 3D cards with flowers popping off the page from a technique called paper quilling. The young lass is a dancer, always moving, and always bending in fanciful forms. Additionally, I shan’t go too long without mentioning the male and lady squires of the home - two cats, Sir Blackberry and the Dutchess Snowball.

Yes, the Queen did make this incredible dress.

Now we must introduce the squeaky wheel in the happy home. It is I, the lumbering Duke Daddy. Never able to sit still, and forever willing himself to think, plan, and move like someone whose pantaloons are on fire. The beautiful family functions quite well, despite the Duke’s wild inclinations to keep everything in symmetrical order.

All members in the kingdom have insatiable sweet teeth. Their desire for the finer snacks has kept their dentist steadily employed. The only problem is what happens after the purchase of said delectables. You see, the Duke, in his forever stubborn stupor, is of the belief that treats are meant to eventually find their way to the tummy of a human body, fulfilling their life’s purpose of bringing joy to the taste buds of a homosapien. The royal ladies of this kingdom, contrary, set their lives upon a different path of purchase and visual admiration.

You see, they enjoy the purchase of treats, but don’t exercise their God given right to consume these commodities before they expire. In plain speak, the ladies in my house let their candy rot away in the cupboard. It is a waste of epic proportions. I’m working with a local priest on labeling it a sin.

What is a Duke to do? In my case, this royal fool finds himself alone in the kitchen at many a late hour, with the tiredness of night mixed with the gravity of candy swirling into the perfect cocktail of menace, so that all reason leaves my head.

“It’s been too many weeks. I know it isn’t even good anymore. Pretty soon this will have to be tossed. They will never know…”

Famous last words from a stupid idiot.

Inevitably, in the morning, although these long ago purchased sweats were surely long forgotten by my maidens, some strange magic in the air pulls at their memory and stomach in tandem, reminding - nay, compelling them to find their stored treasure. Only when they go look, they find their trove to be smaller in size than memory recounts. “Oh by what evil have my delicacies disappeared?”

“Daddy!!!”

Yes I’m in trouble. It’s a familiar problem. A known trouble.

I’ve been here before, and by Jove I’ll be here again.

I plea my case to deaf ears. It doesn’t matter that it was wasting away. It doesn’t matter that it has expired. It wouldn’t matter if it had become petrified.

I remind them that I had never once rebuked them for eating anything under my label of ownership. I speak of the quickness of modern transportation, and my willingness to replace the goods taken under the dark of night. I speak of my daily plight to work hard in order to produce both roof and sustenance for the kingdom.

All pleas fall upon closed hearts under crossed arms. Daddy is heading for the dungeon.

As I hang my head in shame, a small sinister smile cracks the corners of my lips. Forbidden chocolate at midnight…totally worth it.