Save the Chocolate, Save the World

Dillon Creek Rocks

Dillon Creek, California.

This is my cheater post that I’m really doing on Friday but Saturday is my no computer day.

This is about two things that earlier I thought I would probably not write about because I wasn’t sure how they would sound.

#1 — is my bad customer service experience. I had planned to never mention it again, but I’m going to tell you the outcome. The company is called Moonstruck Chocolate and if you want to buy your fancy chocolates from a company who cares a great deal about customer service, this should be your first stop.

This is a Portland based company. I’ve never tried them before and I stopped in to pick up something for my chocoholic husband for his birthday. I was unhappy with the customer service which I thought was subpar especially for something like chocolate. Have you ever been to See’s? If not, I’m very sorry. Those ladies practically vault over the counter to hand you a free sample of super butter chocolate brickle surprise and ask you if you’re familiar with the cherry-chocolate white truffle rum-raisin delight or the new sparkling butter-fudge ripple nut spectacular.

But I wanted to try something new for Bob and I purchased a pre-made box and jetted off an email complaining about the customer service which I characterized as unenthusiastic and uninterested or something like that.

Not only did I receive an apologetic email. I got a phone call asking all the details of my experience which made me a teeny bit embarrassed since I was young once and I’m sure I had my worthless moments when I was manning the register for the Jack-in-the-Box on Kanan Road in Agoura. The point is: they made a major point of wanting to make it right so I will fer-sure be going back although I hope those kids don’t look me up and throw rocks or drinking chocolate at me if they see me in the future.

#2 — is even harder to explain without sounding a teeny bit like an asshole. Like those actresses who tell about how hard their life was because they were so beautiful or rich people who go on about their difficult life with money floating into their hands.

From about age 15 to 35 my feelings about my weight were something that colored every aspect of my existence. It was the extra 15-40 pounds that killed my life. How that changed would be a ten page post that I’m not going to get into right now. The short version is that lots of inner work and yoga and a great spouse and just time healed all that and several years ago I finally settled into a weight that felt like it was right for me. No more agony of worrying about losing weight.

Then last year at this time my digestive system melted down and it became much more difficult to overeat or even enjoy yummy stuff that’s fried or fatty or I feel awful. For example, Bob’s birthday celebration was at a Mexican Restaurant and they brought out the giant plates of chips with huge globs of heavenly melted cheese and I ate like 4 bites and had a hard time falling asleep later with all the churning in my innards.

This week I ran into my favorite clothing stop Ann Taylor Loft where about 80% of my wardrobe comes from because those clothes fit me and because my Mom gives me a gift certificate there for xmas every year. I had an adorable young girl named Jasmine helping pick out stuff.

I explained to Jasmine that I needed everything because by this cruel twist of fate, the Universe was making me lose weight easily now that I was old and married and didn’t care quite so much and none of my clothes fit me. She gave me this horrified look of betrayal and said, “My Mom said it was harder when you got older.” And I said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”

We picked out a boatload of pants and tried them all on and they were too big. She came in to see how I was doing and I said I had to try a size smaller and she said: “You have to tell me about this yoga class you’re taking.”

I don’t think it’s all me. I think the clothing industry is insane and just keeps making stuff up to massage the American woman ego. I read somewhere that a movement to follow the European standard was quashed because an American woman would never buy a size 32. I would ! I would love to not spend the first 30 minutes of every shopping trip just figuring out what my size is.

I’m not going to make any excuses about being comfortable about my weight since it was a long, hard journey to get here and with all my other head trips, it’s not like I’m frolicking in an eternal unicorn paradise. But whenever I feel like some goal is completely impossible, I think about how many years I thought I would never feel normal about eating and body image and it feeds my hope.

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