During their honeymoon, Siobhan recognized too late that Noel, the man she married, the man she promised to be with from now through forever, bore a strong resemblance to white chocolate. He was neither here nor there, neither a Democrat nor a Republican, a vegan or a meat-eater, a sports guy or a theater man. He was perfectly in between. A little too sweet. After years of rocky romances that imploded just when things started to get comfortable, Siobhan found Noel’s easygoing nature a relief and could readily picture sharing a sunny future with him. There would be no fierce battles over tile selections, with each party ready to lay their body down on the tracks arguing over, say, teal vs. daisy motifs.  Choice of restaurants, naming their children would be a breeze. But like anything in life, Noel’s willingness to acquiesce to just about anything, the very trait she valued most in him, now left her feeling irritated, hungering for a man who was bittersweet, who might grate her senses but packed a wallop.  All week long in St. Lucia (the number one honeymoon destination, his choice not hers) when she should have been storing up good will and sweet memories that she could bank on for years to come, Siobhan wrestled with her inner demons, revisiting one failed romance after another in an attempt to get back to that happy place with Noel. By Friday she succumbed, bought a bar of 85% chocolate that she ate hiding behind the palm trees near the deep end of the pool.

(Photo: Jonah Duch)