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9-13-01 - 11:27 p.m. I'm dipping a banana in chocolate sauce and slowly sucking the delicious Hershey's syrup off the tip of the banana before dunking it again into the bowl and repeating the step. After about three dippings, I take a bite of banana. A healthful treat, to be sure. I haven't done this in years. I remember distinctly the last time I enjoyed this snack. I was about six. It was Kellie who proposed the equation banana + chocolate = yum to me, proving herself correct as we shared the bunch Sharon had recently purchased for slicing over Cheerios in the morning. It was to be expected, then, that having discovered a new favorite afternoon indulgence, I would want to eat as many chocolate-dipped bananas as possible before the thought of either ingredient made me sick to my stomach. That was why I was so overjoyed to find, upon returning home from across the street, a pair of ripe yellow Chiquitas on the counter in my kitchen. Dysfunctional as we were, we still were normal enough to have chocolate sauce in the bottom rack inside the refrigerator door. I'm sure you can imagine what I did next. Even at age six I understood the necessity of leaving one of the fruits for someone else in the house to eat, using as much self-control as my kindergarten being could muster to stop at one banana. But apparently even one was too many. Anne came home from work, saw that I had eaten one of her bananas and had dipped it in her syrup and wasted her hard-earned money, and she was furious with me. I won't say here what she did to me, but it wasn't pleasant and I spent the next couple hours locked in my room "thinking about what I had done." So I'm sitting here, eating this banana, with chocolate dripping down my chin and not giving a damn who catches me. I'll even share. I bought them both with my own money, too. And for some reason, they taste a great deal better than I remembered.
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