A few years ago, Flaneur and I were at a convenient store in London, in a hurry but waiting in line to pay for something. Right as the person in front of us finished and it was our turn to move up, I saw something that caught my eye.

A chocolate bar sitting amongst the other candy with something I’d never seen written on a candy wrapper before: “It’s not for girls!”

“Hey look,” I said to Flaneur, tugging on his shirt. “What’s that about?”

“Heh, funny,” he said distractedly, grabbing his receipt and bag. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Like I’ve mentioned before, his sweet tooth is a baby tooth compared to my non-stop-sweet-craving monster molar of a sweet tooth, so I wasn’t surprised when he scooted me out of the store without caring much about the strange candy bar.

And so I never bought it, or even so much as looked at it closer, or even saw it again since I went back to Italy where they definitely don’t sell it.

But then, just a few days ago, I found myself having a strange moment of déjà vu.

I was waiting in line at a deli (the New York cousin of the convenient store), alone this time, but still in a hurry (because Lost was starting in about 5 minutes and I was still 3 blocks from home) when I saw something out of the corner of my eye: “It’s not for girls!”

Ohmygod! There it is!

With one person still in front of me, I darted to the candy bar and snatched it.

Ah ha! I got you this time!

I ran home (no, really, I did) and bounded in through the door just as the new episode came on. Flaneur, who was already sitting on the couch, looked at me.

“Just in time,” he said with a chuckle.

“Yea, and look what I found,” I panted, digging around for the candy bar before pulling it out and holding it up like it was the Holy Grail.

“Woa! You found it!” he said, surprising me that he actually remembered a chocolate bar from almost 3 years ago. (That’s typical of me, not him. Maybe I’m rubbing off on him.)

During a commercial break I picked up the candy bar and gave it a closer inspection. “Yorkie: it’s not for girls!” screamed the blue wrapper with the big, bold yellow letters.

Well what the hell? What’s in this thing? Maybe it has a peanut and caramel covered beef jerky core. Why else would it not be for girls?

But as I read the ingredients I was surprised to see that it was just chocolate. Nothing crunchy or gooey or sticky, just a solid chunk of milk chocolate, divided into squares.

Psssh! What a joke!

I tore the wrapper open and sure enough, nothing a girl couldn’t handle. It was a pretty thick chocolate bar, but by no means intimidating.

I broke off two squares, one for me and one for Flaneur, who ate it without any of the inspection or analysis I had put into it.

Those Brits have a strange sense of humor, I thought as I finished the rest of the Yorkie, proving to it that this particular girl could definitely handle a silly British chocolate bar.