ImissyouNettieMoore

Whatever may come about in any situation is a mixture of various things that can never be deduced with any sufficient degree of universal believability. The oriental minds have come up with a nice solution if anything else, seeming to be more of a something to the rest of the worlds nothing. But that's neither here nor is it over there.

Having swiped aside eons of philosophy I'm not left sitting with a deep and profound gloom that nothing can be explained to me though; instead I'm sitting here as per usual, but with a fantastically red box of chocolates. Now I must say that if I follow my own compulsion it is usually a savoury snack that will eventually pass into my system, but I'm not exactly going to say no to a piece of chocolate that's floating around (sometimes unattended). But Ice-cream, that's another thing, even if it has been pre-served in any kind of bowl it will be denied. Usually with a flinch, a hand held up in a stop gesture and then a deflation of an awkward moment by apologetic demur.

The chocolate on my desk rests inside its frosted foil wrapping, and bevel-edged shiny box with gold-leaf lettering. It has what is promised to be a "smooth" filling, something between a liquid and a solid I presume. Indeed the little picture on the front which is of a few blocks rendered as if fallen in a random pile has a dissected version of an intact block. Dissected with a knife or by someone with extraordinary teeth. And it reveals what looks like a gooey filling that doesn't spill out but still looks as if liquid. I imagine the surrounding chocolate will implode under pressure and squeeze the filling out the forming gaps, a pleasant if delicate experience.

MILK is declared solemnly with an explanation just underneath in letters that require scrutiny: Swiss Milk Chocolate. The chocolate is of a Swiss Milk kind. Probably from or inspired by, Switzerland.