I am in San Diego, CA, at Ghirardelli Soda Fountain & Chocolate Shop and I am faced with a dilemma.

But first let me set the scene.

With a theater marquee-like sign, the storefront alone already beckons.  I’m a sucker for all things retro – broad as that may be – and so, like a sailor to a siren’s call, I am drawn without a choice in the matter.

Once inside, the chocolate energy is palpable.  It’s chocolate, chocolate, CHOCOLATE EVERYWHERE.

The shelves are lined with cacao derivatives of all sorts.  Each bag – nay, each SQUARE of chocolate – whispers in my ear as I walk past, promising me the world with with each bite.  Their sweet nothings make it difficult to walk because of the sudden erection in my pants I cannot explain.

But somehow, I am able to resist all of their tricks, all of their deliciously sinful words.  Because I have been here before.  Well, not here precisely.

But in the Ghirardelli in San Francisco.  And while my mushy-mush brain may have forgotten, my weary, hungry, horny bones still remember, still know.  ”Know what?” you may ask.

Why, dear reader, what to order, of course – their specialty!  It is no mere chocolate square that is their John Hancock item.

(Hehe, “cock.”)  It’s their World-Famous Original Sundae.

I could taint that divine treat with words that are mere approximations of its glory, but why besmirch its grandeur?  You can see it above with your own eyes and that, that alone is the only thing that can do it justice.

When it arrived at my table between me and the P.Y.T., it was akin to a reunion with an old, old friend that I missed having intercourse with.

Immediately did I dive into it, my spoon’s business end out.  Shovelful after shovelful of ice cream and fudge and nuts went straight into my mouth.

My taste buds were exploding with activity.  My brain’s pleasure center was connecting calls every which way and all of them were obscene.

I was in San Diego now – when would I be back?  Not anytime soon.

And with that simple rationale, I ate and ate, remorse a distant memory – a faded, foreign concept.  Early on, the P.Y.T. backs off, leaving a hefty hunk of decadence my way – and I don’t blink an eye.

I proceed with relentless speed and singular focus until I reach the bottom of that glass.  And then it hits me.

Why did I eat that?  It probably had 4000 calories.  Sure, it tasted good, but what do I do with those calories – all that fat?

The sensation, the taste, is gone now and all I’m left with is the memory of that temporary joy.

I am left to wrest with a simple question: was it worth it?

Honestly?  I’m still figuring it out.