I don’t eat a lot of sweets or junk food. Really. I try to eat healthy.  I love fresh vegetables (except Brussels sprouts).  I’ll generally buy hormone-free meats and when I do check a carton of eggs before they end up in my shopping cart, I look for large (but not jumbo) Omega-3, brown eggs laid by happy chickens who reside in the same time zone.

I keep a small container of shelled walnuts in my cupboard for when I feel the urge to snack, but, I confess, sometimes I just want something – something sweet – hell something chocolate, and there’s no substitute.

The other day I was fighting such a craving.

My first strategy was to find some nuts. After getting past the child-proof capped clear plastic container (Why does opening food packaging have to be so hard?), I nibbled some walnuts.  This did not satisfy me.

Then I scoured my cupboards and storage bins for trail mix or the kind of semi-sweet biscuits I might serve with a St. Andre or triple cream cheese, but I couldn’t rustle up any type of sweet cracker either.

I thought about making toast and sampling some homemade jams a few of my friends gifted me with, the creations of their passion for canning, but I didn’t even get around to plugging in the toaster. Really. I wanted chocolate. Plum ambrosia was just not going to cut it.

I was almost ready to go to the closest Starbucks for a cakey chocolate breakfast muffin when I remembered John came home from work a few days earlier with a half box of Two-Bite® brownies from Trader Joes’s. There must have been some sort of celebration where he worked and he came home with a modest care package of remnants.

Sure enough, I found the clear, half-a-hatbox sized container on the small granite-topped table near the refrigerator. There was one little brownie left along with a few brown crumbs dusting the bottom of the package. They’d been in my house a few days now.  I studied the expiration date and list of ingredients on the over-sized label.

A moment of guilt passed through me as I separated the lid from the bottom of the container and tested the two-bite brownie for edibility. I squeezed it between my thumb and forefinger and still found a little springiness. Two bites later, I rinsed out the container and threw the evidence in the recycling bin.

My chocolate craving was satisfied, and I felt positively gleeful.  I couldn’t believe I was so happy about eating a slightly stale thimbleful of sugar and cocoa.

Ha, I got the last one. That was it. I was so happy I almost danced around my kitchen.

In my early twenties, I remember fuming quietly to myself when my roommate or her boyfriend consumed the last beer in the fridge.  I was too much of a pleaser back then to tell them that if I bought beer, I expected one to be around when I wanted it. I never argued when I’d see a promissory note from them announcing that our beer supply would be re-stocked after their next grocery trip, but I just let my disappointment fester inside.

Sometimes you just want something when you want it.  Maybe you want a special kind of tool in the middle of a project or a crisp twenty when an unanticipated social plan comes together quickly. Getting something you want when you want it is a small glimpse of heaven for me; an actual situation when you can see your needs fulfilled without having to do something first.  It feels like a sign that what you want is already available.

Consuming the last of anything is special.  It makes me feel chosen. Lucky. Blessed.

Taking the last bite of a two-bite brownie is no small thing.