On the first business day of every month, I walk over to the Godiva store on Lexington Avenue and stare at the truffles behind the glass counter for about four minutes. I’m a rewards member, and so I’m entitled to a free truffle every month. The endless possibility of confectionery delight is simply daunting. I’ll stand with my right hip skewed, stretching my bottom lip with my thumb and index finger. I swish saliva through my teeth, in efforts to gain a profound understanding of exactly what I am craving. Sometimes, it’s the starfish with the raspberry filling, sometimes it’s the crème brulée dessert truffle, and sometimes it’s the caramel pecan praline, which is about the size of my face. I’ll pick out my one truffle, and the person behind the counter puts it in the token golden Godiva bag. If the chocolate is particularly arousing, I’ll nibble on it on the walk back to the office. The rare times I can resist a preemptive bite, I’ll head over to Oren’s, my favorite coffee spot, for another vanilla vice to accompany my monthly pleasure.
I’ll head back to the office, switch my Office Communicator status to “in a meeting,” and savor a few moments of blissful silence.
And then the phones start ringing, the bottom of my foot starts itching, and air conditioner starts blasting frigid wintery air into my graying head. (I’m officially at George Clooney status with my salt & pepper mane. No, really.) I lick off remnants of melted chocolate on my lips (and usually some on my elbow), and throw myself back into the game.
If I were to list the top ten most memorable moments of my entire life (quarter life crisis, bear with me), I’d probably forget to include the day I graduated from college (because I’m trying to block out the memory of smelling like a greasy pub on the day my “real life commenced”), or the day I learned to ride my bike (I might have crashed into an oak tree), or the day I got my license (I failed my driving test the first time). I might consider including the day I started threading my eyebrows, but the pain of that day might be better forgotten. And I'd probably prefer to leave out the day I realized the Freshman Fifteen really does exist. No, world, it's not a mythical monster under your bed.
I might list the night my sister and I watched Fast Five in theaters; it was the first of many later viewings of this movie, and inspired our South American travel plans (and pending nuptials with Paul Walker). I might also think about the time my mom and I got coffee at the Ridgewood Coffee Co., where we drank from real mugs and ate some sort of unremarkable pastry that tasted extraordinary because we shared it. There was also the time before my Sweet Sixteen when my father and I would practice our father-daughter dance in the kitchen; he would usually trip on my feet, and I would usually giggle uncontrollably, and I’m not sure if we ever improved. There was the time in college when my best friend followed me to the library in his socks, just so he could chat and say, “hi.” There was the time another one of my best friends and I sat in Central Park for hours on end, making observations about people and ourselves and the world, and trying out new ways of sitting, like “frog sit.” The moment my sister got into college was probably one of the happiest of my life; I could actually taste adrenaline in my mouth. The year before, I realized my (potentially far reaching) dreams of being a dancer were rendered obsolete by my arbitrary knee condition. It was my growing up (old lady) moment. There was the moment in India when my fellow Yatris and I thought we were going to be run over by a herd of stampeding bull. I had my moment of clarity last month, as well as my moment of confusion last year when Ricky Martin came out (I thought we all knew he was gay?)
Recently, I found out that a pillow which perpetually emits the sensation of “the other side of the pillow” was invented.
Feeling the calming coolness of the other side of the pillow immediately after it’s flipped in the middle of the night, is an ephemeral, and forever desired, pleasure. It’s that sensation of peace that touches your skin, allays the fears creasing your temples, and softens the blow of nightmarish realities pervading your senses. And with this invention, it would last forever.
I think I just found moment 11.
