[ WP ] After eating an entire box of incredibly delectable Chocolates given to you by a mysterious Chocolatier you Comfortably go to Sleep . The next morning while eating Breakfast you realize that Everything you touch turns into Milk Chocolate and begin to Panic since today is a VERY Important Day .

I stood next to Ivy in front of the large oak door of her parent's home, waiting for her to knock. She had been looking at me expectantly for nearly a full minute. 
 
 `` Why are you being so awkward?'' she finally asked. `` Just knock!'' 
 
 `` My wrist hurts!'' I blurted out. 
 
 She paused and turned slowly to face me fully. `` Your... wrist hurts? Too much to knock on a door?'' 
 
 `` Yep,'' I said, holding my hands straight out at an angle that I knew looked ridiculous. 
 
 Even getting to this point had been an absolute nightmare. It had started with a loud alarm, followed by a chocolate clock. I assumed it was an elaborate practical joke pulled off by a friend, or even my fiancee, and moved on. As I went to lift myself from my bed, I made the mistake of using my hands. 
 
 The result was a bed made completely of chocolate. An obese man's dream, really, but not what I was looking for in my life. By that time, I had to admit to myself that something weird was afoot. I was panicking, knowing that today was the day I would meet my future in-laws and, now apparently, also the day I became a magic chocolate factory. 
 
 Through a lot of trial and error—and dozens of chocolate dress slacks later—I discovered that only my fingertips would cause the transformation. I was happy to find I could not self-chocolate and that other, more intimate areas did not result in disaster as well. 
 
 But there is a reason no one uses just the palms and backs of their hands to get dressed in the morning. And that reason is that it's borderline impossible to do. 
 
 The resulting outfit was less than impressive. It was, in fact, absurd. I wore an over-sized t-shirt with a Pantera logo plastered on the front. It was from my much larger ( and much more metal ) high school days. I had found a pair of white basketball shorts were the only option for pants, as buttons and anything sized well was too tight to deal with. This of course meant underwear was out of the picture. 
 
 I wore sandals for shoes, and since it was frigid outside, a floor length fur coat that I did n't actually recall buying. Part of me suspected it was put there by whoever had cursed me this way. 
 
 I stepped over the large pile of clothes and chocolate that were failed attempts at putting on socks, lost my balance, and braced myself against my bedroom wall. After collecting myself from falling through my chocolate wall, I made my way to the front door to meet my fiancee. 
 
 In a testament to her love for me, her reaction was merely a subdued horror at my appearance. 
 
 I had danced around the topic of my clothing choices and did not mention the curse that had befallen me. As highlights, I would only mention that there is a reason no one greets their fiance or thanks them for driving with a rigid pat on the head. 
 
 `` Ugh, just knock, silly!'' she said presently, bringing me out of my recollections. Her expression was half amused and half irritated. 
 
 I turned to look at the door, my forehead wrinkling in concentration. I lifted my hand in front of it, and then the wind swirled in around us. 
 
 `` Wait, hang on!'' she said with a sudden urgency. She put her hands on top of her head to hold her hair down, waited until the wind stopped, and then combed through it. `` Does my hair look okay?'' she asked. 
 
 Despite her efforts to keep it still, the strands had swirled themselves into a bow-shaped knot on the top of her head. I started to reach my hand forward to comb it out before realizing my mistake. I snatched my hand back. 
 
 `` It looks fine,'' I lied. 
 
 I looked back at the door, tilted my head slightly, and resigned myself to looking like an idiot. I slammed the back of my hand into the door several times. I heard foot steps approach and the front door swung open to reveal my future in-laws, smiling warmly at their daughter. As they turned their attention to the bizarre sight that was me, their expressions fell. 
 
 `` Well... hello,'' her father said, reaching out to shake my hand. `` You must be this Max that we've heard so much about.'' 
 
 Instinctively, my hand shot forward to meet his. I jerked it back just before we touched, yelped like a dog running into an electric fence, and stepped back several feet. 
 
 The awkward silence that followed would have required considerable equipment and several professional licenses to cut through. 
 
 Her father stepped forward again, looking shocked with his hand still outstretched. I felt my mind reeling. 
 
 `` I'm sick!'' I yelled. I do not mean the kind of indoor yell you may hear a parent use with a misbehaving child, I mean the kind of yell that only comes from a man deep in the throes of fear or madness or both. I cleared my throat awkwardly. `` I mean, I'm sick, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, but it is... er, an honor to meet you both.'' I nodded at them. 
 
 I could feel Ivy looking at me. Mrs. Thompson cleared her throat. Gently, she said, `` Well, both of you come on in. You can just make yourselves comfortable. Take your... *shoes* off by the door,'' she finished, eyeing my thong sandals. 
 
 They both stepped aside and I edged in as carefully as I could, holding my hands in fists. I shrugged off my sandals and my coat, and then looked around the room for a place to put the latter. I could feel Ivy's eyes on me. 
 
 `` Oh, let me take that, sweetie,'' Mrs. Thompson offered. She took it away from me gingerly and ran her hands through the pelts as she hung it up in the nearest closet. `` How... eccentric of you to wear this,'' she said with the appropriate amount of judgment in her tone. 
 
 `` It's a... family heirloom,'' I mumbled, hoping Ivy did n't overhear me. 
 
 Her mom just stared at me, shuffling her feet for a moment. `` Well, um, let's see... would either of you care for a drink? I think Arthur is pouring some wine.'' 
 
 `` No!'' I yelped again, completely aware how manic I sounded. `` I mean, wine? At 7 o'clock in the afternoon? What are we, DRUNKS?'' I gave an extremely forced laugh. `` No thank you!'' 
 
 `` Max! We often drink earlier than this for dinner!'' Ivy said, her tone filled with reproach and embarrassment. 
 
 `` What, Ivy? I do n't drink! I'm a recovering—'' I stopped, not wanting to complete that particular lie. `` —Mormon.'' 
 
 `` Max, what are you—'' Ivory started. 
 
 `` Oh, no, I'm so sorry, dear,'' Mrs. Thompson said, apparently willing to completely bypass the whole'recovering' thing. `` Ivory did n't tell us that. I'll just get you something else. We have soda, water, lemonade...'' Mrs. Thompson trailed off, looking at me expectantly. 
 
 `` Um... Soda, please. Whatever you have,'' I asked as politely as I could manage. She nodded and started to walk toward the kitchen door. `` Um, wait! Could you... um... could you give that to me in... in a teacup?'' 
 
 I fully expected her to kick me out at this point, or at the very least curse at me, but to her credit, she simply nodded and continued out of the room. 
 
 `` What the fuck is your deal?'' Ivory shouted at me in a whisper. 
 
 `` It's nothing!'' I whispered back. `` I'm sure it will clear up. I mean... I'm sure it will all be fine. I can do better on a second impression! Today just is n't a good day.'' 
 
 `` Is n't a *good* day?'' she asked incredulously. `` This is a disaster!'' 
 
 She was cut short by her dad returning with two wine glasses. Ivory took one from him and downed it in one short gulp. `` Excuse me,'' she said, and left the room abruptly. 
 
 We stood there awkwardly. Eventually, he said, `` So, Max, what is it that you do for a living?'' 
 
 Before I could answer, Mrs. Thompson walked back through the kitchen door to join us. In her hand, she carried a delicate pink teacup, emblazoned with gold flowers. `` Here you are, dear. I got you cream soda. I hope that's okay,'' she said as she handed the cup toward me. 
 
 I held out my hand, palm up, completely flat. She eyed it, confused as to what she should do next. I nodded towards my open hand, encouraging her to place it there. She did so and I made the awkward transition between my two hands until I could sit it on the nearest side table. I noticed her father eyeing me closely as I carefully looped my fingers through the handle without letting the tips of them touch anything. 
 
 I saw her father's face twitch into a slight smile as he asked, `` Son, would you perhaps like some chocolate?'' 
 
 I felt a cold sweat form on my forehead as I choked out, `` Excuse me?'' 
 
 `` You've got a problem, son.'' 
 
 `` No sir!'' I insisted. `` I—'' 
 
 `` Oh yes you do!'' he yelled at me, making me recoil slightly. `` And I think I know exactly what your problem is.'' 
 
 My eyes darted between the man that was going to be my father-in-law and my mother-in-law, gaping like a fish out of water. 
 
 `` Everything you touch is turning to chocolate, right?'' 
 
 I sat, stunned into silence by the statement. The father laughed a deep, hearty laugh from his belly. 
 
 `` I can see the cocoa leftover on your shoulder, son. No sense in denying it!'' 
 
 The mother joined in on the laughter now. `` Oh dear, you had a visit with Calvin Cocoa yesterday?'' 
 
 My mind flashed back to an empty bag of chocolates laying on my bed back in my apartment. 
 
 I felt some sort of relief wash over me. `` Yes! How did you—'' 
 
 `` What is going on?'' Ivy asked, coming back into the living room. 
 
 `` Ivy, you did n't tell us that Max had the Bonbon Blessing!'' her father exclaimed. 
 
 I saw relief wash over Ivy's face and a smile break out on her lips. `` *That's* what's wrong with you?'' 
 
 `` Happened to my wife some twenty years ago, son. It went away in a couple of delicious weeks.'' her father said with a reassuring nod. 
 
 `` Yep, I guess it has been twenty years now!'' she agreed. `` That was when we lost Brendan.'' 
 
 `` Gosh, he was delicious though,'' Ivy added. 
 
 The shock must have been evident on my face. 
 
 `` Well, you see, he was already dead dear,'' the mother consoled me. `` No sense in not partaking.'' 
 
 I could hear my screams echo into the streets as I burst through their now chocolate front door.
