A few months ago I discovered that my friend Jane keeps a tall glass jar in her kitchen filled with chocolate candies--bite-size Dove bars, Mr. Goodbar, Hershey's Golden Almond, Snickers, all my favorites.  Personally I've never understood how anyone could keep chocolate out in plain sight without consuming it. Unless you're Willie Wonka.

Although I don't keep any chocolate visible in my house, I love it when other people do.  I have selected physicians based on the selection of candy in their waiting rooms.  And once I discovered this treasure trove in Jane's house, I always stop by the jar on my way out like a trick-or-treater on Halloween, and toss a few chocolate candies into my purse.  Just in case of emergency.  Which could happen on the drive home.

As if Jane's house weren't already my favorite place to visit, she also owns a great piece of exercise equipment called a Power Plate.  At some other time I can possibly explain this machine but not right now when my attention is focused on the candy jar.

Jane, being very generous (and not only with the candy), introduced me to her machine and to her trainer, who works with me on the equipment at her house.  When Jane left town this week, she made sure I had a key so I could continue my training sessions while she was gone.  And even though Jane being gone does present a perfect excuse for me to skip working out, today I actually go to her house and meet Brian for a session on the machine.

When we're finished with my workout, Brian and I head for the front door.  I automatically make a detour to stop in the kitchen at the candy jar for my usual fill-up.  I see Brian has stopped too, and he is watching me with a funny look on his face.

How rude of me, I think, my hand deep in the chocolate jar--and I ask Brian if he'd like some chocolate, too.  I don't think I need to tell you what Brian's body looks like, especially compared to mine.

He says, "no thanks."

And only then---my hand still embedded deep in the jar--does it occur to me what I just did.

Sheepishly, I say to him, "Eating chocolate right in front of the trainer.  That's pretty clueless, isn't it?"

"Yep", he laughs.  "On a scale of one to ten, that was a ten."

I laugh too.

And we walk out of Jane's house together.  Right after I toss a few Dove bars into my trick-or-treat bag.  Happy Halloween. 

Darryle is a mother, breast cancer survivor, artist and former TV journalist who lives in central California and writes the blog Ineversignedupforthis.com.