I'll take a chocolate covered troll with a side of tits

So this past Friday, I hosted a chocolate party (I'll refrain from names because 1) I don't feel I need to advertise and 2) it's entirely not the company's fault and I don't really care to tarnish their name) and it was ..... well ..... disasterous.

First of all, the consultant ends up an hour late. Yes, my guests sat around for an hour before she even arrived. I think it may have been that her phone books kept slipping and she couldn't see over the steering wheel (you'll understand later).

Prior to my guests arriving, I commented to my husband that I swore she must only be 16, because she had this little voice. I said "Watch me be completely wrong and a 10-foot 350 lb ogre will be at the front door".

When she finally arrived, I realized she was small, everywhere but her chest. This girl was top heavy, and I was afraid she was going to tip over.

So in she comes and she waltzes past the pile of sandals at the front door (that might be your first clue that we take our shoes off in the house) and stands there a moment, peering into the kitchen where everyone is gathered and asks where she can set up. Ummmm, how about the bathroom? I figured right next to the kitty litter box would be nice. (At this point, Bill Engvall would have said "Here's your sign")

She doesn't apologize to the group, doesn't introduce herself; she just goes about attempting to melt the chocolate in her tempering machine. When she finally does speak, it's to mumble something about cocoa beans and next thing I know we're passing around a container of beans to look at. I don't care .... where's the chocolate?

Then, we get to sample cocoa powder. As if we really eat it plain on a regular basis that we need to know what it tastes like on it's own. So she puts it onto a small paper plate and sits it down on the table in front of a couple party guests. They just look at it, and she asks "Oh, did you want some spoons?" .... No, we'll just lick our fingers and dunk it in. (Here's your sign)

There was no other sampling. Simply cocoa powder and the melted chocolate we got to dip all the goodies (I provided) in. She passed around packages of a couple things, and mumbled a few things which we didn't all get.

There was never a mention of a chocolate martini (though we discussed it on the phone the week prior to the party) and not a drop served. No explanation of things, not even who to write checks out to once orders were being placed (and trust me, there weren't many ... I'll put it to you this way, I think I'm lucky if the party brought in $40 in sales - she was that bad.)

When she walked through the house and across the carpet a third time with her shoes on, I took note. About a 2 inch heel. She was probably lucky to be 4'10" with the shoes on. I'm sure with her shoes off she wouldn't have been able to reach the counter top.

It was the worst home show I've ever encountered, but damn we got some laughs at the expense of the chocolate toting troll.