It was my own fault really. I should have put on an apron. It only took a split second for my hand to come down and accidentally flip an entire bowl of cocoa powder all over myself.
Since I had been cooking only a bit earlier my face, wet with sweat when the incident occurred, was now muddy with chocolate. As I opened my eyes I could feel the musky powder slip off my eyelashes and onto the floor. My left cheek was completely caked, and I could taste the pungent oils on my lips.
The polo shirt I was wearing was only half-alright, the thick brown stripes perfectly matched the powder, you could barely even tell cocoa from cotton. It was the thick white stripes that I was concerned about. My pants, previously a light khaki, were now a hazy auburn. Turning to glimpse myself in the mirror I looked like I just tussled with Indiana Jones in the middle of a dessert.
A fine sifting of powder had accumulated on the floor making a delicate stencil of my feet like a pointillistic art piece. Eat Beast was already investigating this as possible snackies.
It was a Dutch processed mess of epic proportions.
I looked down. I was tired. I really wanted to finish this truffle making project. There were only a few more to roll out. Going up stairs and changing just didn't sound appealing right now. However, these clothes had to be treated now if they were ever going to be worn again. A little stain of chocolate is one thing, a volley of cocoa powder exploding into a blanketing dust could on you is another.
I turned to Eat Beast who was already diligently trying to
So, right in my kitchen, I stripped off my shirt and pants, chucked them in the sink, turned on the cold water and threw in some dish soap. Opening a nearby drawer I took out my rarely used apron and put it on, being sure to secure it with a tight square knot. (It's a personal habit of mine to always put it on after I stain my clothes.)
There in my boxer briefs and apron I rolled out twenty more truffles.
The entire time I prayed my roommate would continue sleeping. I imagine that trying to explain this so it didn't sound like I was ripping off a bad sitcom would be unlikely.
I made another batch the next day; this time with apron tied.