dear french silk pie,

If you are my mortal enemy, why have I been craving you since Thanksgiving?

Why can't I get your perfect, creamy, chocolate goodness out of my mind?

If our first date was such a grainy disaster, why was I so enthusiastic for a second, over two years later?

This time, I was determined to literally whip you into submission, to make you homogenous and dreamy, then pour you into a buttery crust.

Only, you were determined to be difficult again. And the second I poured the melted chocolate in, you gave it the cold shoulder and shattered it into tiny flecks.

How could you?

Listen up. You have almost 24 hours to cool it, and by that time, you'd better have your act together. Or else.

To be continued...