It’s been about a year since I left them. As I think back on those wild, crazy nights turned into mornings with my packets of McVitie’s milk & dark chocolate digestive biscuits – even if I didn’t want to – I see it was the wise decision to end things.

It was an obsession. When I was with them, it felt like nothing I’d ever experienced. When I was away, I could feel holes in my heart (20 to be exact). Oh how I long for your sweet, cocoa taste, my biscuit. I would return home and there on my shelf, I would find them: a glowing, fresh packet ready for me to ravage and have my way with. ‘You’re mine tonight’, I would whisper. But you have to savour it. So I would take my packet upstairs to my room, tease off it’s wrapping, sniff the chocolatey air and then let the taste dance on my lips. Sometimes it would last for minutes, or hours, even days if I had the passion and the energy, but we would always leave each other satisfied.

That lasted for years, long before university. But then one evening I found out my beloved biscuit had baggage – 2.1 grams to be exact. Thus began a dark cycle of arguing, followed by feasting, followed by self-loathing, followed by feasting… It was an abusive relationship to say the least. I know 2.1 grams of saturated fat per biscuit doesn’t sound like a great deal, but at the rate we would go at it – like animals – surely I’d have months left to live. You’re toxic!  I would scream. I would get no response. Don’t you understand, you’re killing me! Still no response. I can’t risk it all just for you… Soon I got tired of the silence, so I threw them out.

Since the breakup, I’ve had a string of other flings with other biscuits: the sultry jammie dodger, and the scantily-clad chocolate chip, along with the seductive and moreish bourbon. But these were all short lived. None of them could compare to the special bond I held with my chocolate digestive. We still see each other from time-to-time in the supermarket. It’s not awkward, we just greet each other with a wry smile. I smile because those were the good times, the times where even though my love was killing me, I felt alive.

Alas I’m proud to say that it has almost been exactly one year, since a McVitie’s Chocolate Digestive Biscuit has caressed my smooth, dark lips and entered my watering mouth hole.

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