The box

8:00 a.m.
I arrive at work. Thankfully, no Valentines goodies in sight.

9:02 a.m.
The boss arrives. He's placed something on a table. I glance over and see a gold box.

9:15 a.m.
The boss announces that there's Valentines treats. Nobody moves.

9:33 a.m.
The boss opens the box.

9:45 a.m.
A coworker saunters over and takes a foil-covered chocolate. Aha. I know what I'm up against.

9:50 a.m.
Another coworker takes one. I sip my coffee and watch him out of the corner of my eye. I know for a fact he doesn't wash his hands after using the washroom.

10:12 a.m.
Still sipping coffee. The voice of logic tells me that the chocolates are foil-wrapped so technically they're safer from unclean hands.

10:25 a.m.
I walk past the box. It's Lindt chocolates. I whisper to them, "You have no power over me."

10:37 a.m.
They have power over me. But I'm still not succumbing.

11:50 a.m.
I've convinced myself that my unclean coworker touched every single one of the chocolates and that foil-wrapping is porous.

2:01 p.m.
There's six chocolates missing from the box now. They must have disappeared while I was fixing the boss's laptop. I idly wonder if there'll be a break out of gastro-intestinal illness in the office soon.

2:25 p.m.
A coworker tells me to take a chocolate home to my husband. I ask if any of them are white chocolate. She tells me I should eat one and find out.

2:26 p.m.
I am not eating one.

3:22 p.m.
I'm sipping water and haven't glanced at the box in almost an hour. I'm staring at it now because I swear it's staring back.

3:24 p.m.
I remember that I have a small piece of 65% Madagascar dark chocolate in my purse. Who needs a big ol' piece of germy chocolate from a communal box?

3:35 p.m.
I get up to refill my water and do a head count. There's seven missing. Where are they going?

4:11 p.m.
I'm eating carrots and hummus. My coworker comes to my desk to ask what smells so good. Certainly not a boring ol' box of chocolates, that's for sure.

4:15 p.m.
Aha! I finally catch someone taking a chocolate. I need more exciting coworkers.

4:18 p.m.
They're disappearing like hotcakes. One more gone. Twelve minutes to go.

4:33 p.m.
Success! I'm tempted to stand by the box and do a z-snap except there's coworkers everywhere. I z-snap in my mind instead.