Class and chocolate don't mix.

Clearly, most things I do are done with class.

And also clearly, most things I do are completely and entirely situation-appropriate.

So it should be clear to you that, one, all my known associates are equally classy, and two, I can be trusted to act honorably at a work function.

Let me share with you what may be the two exceptions to those otherwise clearly accurate claims.

I met a cute boy a few weeks ago. We've spent a little time together, but not much. I don't hear from him a lot and I'm playing hard-to-get (whoever just snickered, screw you) (mom if that was you that's just rude) so our communications, mostly texts, are sporadic. Last Friday night I was out for a happy hour cocktail with a friend, celebrating my new black-out curtains and discussing the situation. Her take: forget him. Someone should dote on me. Adore me. Pursue me, goddammit. (This was, clearly, well into happy hour. And she's oddly emphatic about my love life.) Bottom line, I shouldn't waste my time on some guy who comes and goes without much thought. He wasn't worth talking about for one more minute. So we started talking about Adam Levine instead. Cute boy was not mentioned again.

It goes without saying, then, that she was less amused than I was the next morning - about 11am on a lovely, peaceful Saturday - when he texted me this picture:

with the simple caption: "yay or nay?"

Well, come on. Really. That's just funny. I like funny. I like clever and witty and flirty. She pointed out I don't actually know him well enough to have any idea at all whether he was even trying to be any of those things. Her unique and unexpected take on it was perhaps he was kind of a perv, and/or had a very particular opinion on what kind of girl I am. Hmm. Well. When you put it that way. So I decided to be grossly morally offended, and I haven't given him a moment's thought since then.

Until today, when my team had an outing to a chocolate factory. (Yep.) We could taste chocolate, smell it, write on it, even fill molds with it and have fun chocolate-shaped things to play with. Kelly made a baseball for her son. Tiffanni made flowers for our executive assistant who couldn't be there. Marissa made a guitar. I made this:

Which was really funny in theory, until I realized my boss - and my boss's boss - were there, and perhaps they wouldn't think that was very funny at all. No worries. I'll just keep it on the downlow. There's a lot going on and there's just chocolate flying everywhere. Who's going to notice a silly set of chocolate handcuffs? No one.

No one except Tom the owner, who loudly announced, "Hey, are you making handcuffs?! That's great! I have this special box I'm trying to give away!" (You've no idea the willpower it took not to respond, "Me too, Tom. Me too.") So Tom set about tracking down the special handcuff box (?), while hollering at me from the other side of the room, "So, do you know a cop? Is this a present?" I mumbled it was for my dad. Seriously, you guys, I said "my dad." No amount of therapy will ever let me take that back.

I finally got the damn things hidden away and out of sight, when Tom, love that guy, noticed the only thing I'd made from the mold were the handcuffs.

So now I have a chocolate badge, a chocolate walkie-talkie, and a chocolate fucking billy club.