The Easter Bunny visited our house while we were gone this weekend which proves that chocolate won’t let you down even if you’re not around to let it in the house. THANK GOD.
If you’re ever at any type of Tennessee tourist destination near the mountains you know there is fudge. There is fudge like there are corn dogs and funnel cakes at county fairs and hot dogs and nuclear orange nacho cheese at football games.
We just spent a fun family weekend in Chattanooga and on nearby Lookout Mountain. We normally don’t travel Easter weekend but our spring break was late this year and we had the opportunity to review a lovely hotel downtown. More about our trip next week but first, a funny story.
Where was I? Fudge.
Sunday afternoon we browsed around in a souvenir shop and bought a slice of fudge to go. Fudge to go sounds like a grand idea until your kids open it in a moving vehicle and you realize you have no napkins. Any way, the girls bit into their fudge and before I could shove mine in my mouth they’d already inhaled theirs. I’m in the savor the fudge camp so I was taking my time. And then I realized that the fudge was just, well, weird. The consistency was wrong. It was almost runny in the center. Now some candy is meant to be runny. Think Cadbury Egg center yumminess. Fudge is not in this category.
Hubby was driving so he was not partaking in our fudge tasting session. “This fudge doesn’t look right.” I held it up so he could see.
“That’s not right,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t eat any more.”
“I don’t think it’s done,” I added.
“Eating fudge like that can make you REALLY SICK can’t it?” Miss A chimed in from the back.
Great kid. You’re NOT helping.
“UH mom…I don’t want to get sick. Is that going to make us sick?” Miss C’s face was filled with worry and, bless her heart, she has inherited my propensity to fret.
I put the fudge away and assured the girls it was no big deal that we’d eaten a little but that we should just throw it out to be safe.
I took a swig of water and then another. The OCD mama in me was silently freaking out. We could NOT get sick. We still had an afternoon of fun planned plus a two-hour plus car ride home. I shoved my neurotic tendencies aside and we changed the subject and just enjoyed the beautiful Sunday drive. That was until we arrived at Ruby Falls, an incredible waterfall thousands of feet below the surface of the earth. As we stood in line to board an elevator that would take us down into the cave, the tour guide gave an ominous warning…well, ominous to anyone who might have pending bathroom issues. “Take your bathroom breaks now. There’s no bathroom in the cave and the tour is about one hour and 15 minutes,” the tour guide cautioned.
His words echoed in my brain.
And then I remembered.
I was getting paranoid again. Was my stomach rumbling? Or was it the kid next to me?
We all headed to the bathroom for a pee break, despite Miss A insisting that she did not have to go after I insisted that oh yes she was going to go whether she felt like she needed to or not, and soon we entered the elevator for the start of the cave tour.
As we made our descent into the bowels of the cave (pun intended), I said a small silent prayer that we wouldn’t need a bathroom.
Thankfully the good fudge fairies of the mountain were looking over us.
p.s. We were fine and the girls ended the night raiding their Easter Bunny loot he’d left at the house while we were traveling Sunday morning. Chocolate wins! As it should be.
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