Salon Du Chocolate

So this is going to be an honest post about the Salon du Chocolate. I love chocolate. I love the idea of chocolate. I love the way it tastes with caramel in it, and I love it melted into the beloved hot, milky drink that the French call "chocolat chaud." I like it by itself, I like it in croissants, and I like it in the middle of these magical European cookies called Prince cookies. Chocolate does the ~almost~ impossible. For example, it is one of the few things in this world that makes coffee better. It’s a healthy dessert (dark chocolate, of course) and it even helps me like raisins...when they are coated in it. The Salon du Chocolate in Paris is the end-all-be-all for chocolate lovers worldwide- chocolate from every corner of the world, in all shapes and forms. From the moment we stepped in the door, samples of chocolate were shoved in our faces by eager vendors. This sounds like the perfect day, right? Almost. Our perfect day at the Salon du Chocolate was doomed to mediocracy from the beginning. The potential for pure, gluttonous joy was lost in the queue outside of the convention center. As Paige and I were attempting to decipher the ambiguous French signs at the ticket queue, we hear a deep English voice behind us say, "You look lost, I can recognize English speakers anywhere"........enter Brian. Brian, a young British fella who had just moved to Paris, was also hoping to enjoy a day at the Salon du Chocolate when he came across Paige and I. Seeing his chance at new, English-speaking friends, he latched on. And didn't let go. (I have included his WhatsApp photo in this journal entry for visual reference). Brian ever-so-kindly accompanied Paige and I throughout the ENTIRE Salon du Chocolate. He politely forged his way through the teeming crowds of chocolate lovers, pointed out specialty European chocolates that he recognized, and never. left. our. sides. He persevered uncomfortably through the awkward lulls in conversation, he transcendentally heard our whispers to each other about coffee and immediately found us a coffee-stand selling throat-burningly strong espresso, and he faithfully pointed out every single vender offering samples. Unfortunately, his nervously pale and watery stare evoked enough of our pity for us to not follow through with our silently-communicated plans of ditching him. Brian was there for the long haul. After a painfully

uncomfortable hour of fighting the crowd and the awkwardness with Brian, Paige and I decided to call it quits. Brian dutifully followed us to the "sortie" signs, and there he pulled the move we had been anticipating. "Do you girls have WhatsApp?" Yes, Brian, we have WhatsApp. He gave us his phone with shaking hands, and resigned to our fates, Paige and I added our contacts. Uncomfortable “see you soon maybe’s” ensued, and we finally parted ways with our Salon du Chocolate devotee. Freedom coursing through our veins, our speed-walk out of that convention center would have made any HPE professor proud. Though that fateful day at the Salon du Chocolate was tainted by our hovering new friend, we did learn one lesson that we will not soon forget: always give guys like Bryan a fake number.