🎶 Chocolate Mousse, Caca & Classical Chaos 🍰🎻

Like chocolate mousse made out of cocoa, caca, chaos, and regret. Tastes terrible, looks worse.

Flashback about ten years ago. I’d just met my new partner-in-crime—a fiery redhead with a laugh that could get us kicked out of a library. We were everywhere: art openings, late-night cafés, parks full of gossip and cake crumbs. Basically, if it had culture or carbs, we were there.

Then I decided to quit smoking.
My plan? Lock myself in with a mountain of fruit, a few bottles of cheap wine, random spices, tea, and milk until my wallet begged for mercy. Every time the craving hit, I slammed a glass of orange juice so sour it made my eyes water. Weirdly, it worked.

Five days later—still nicotine-free, a little feral—my friend calls. “Birthday. Concert Hall. Classical music. Dress up.”
I threw on a little black dress, tights, and rain boots (because, of course, it was pouring) and sprinted across town.

Outside the hall, she’s with an older guy, I assume is her uncle.
Nope.
Enter Mister Music—a silver-haired regular with insider connections and a mouth full of smooth talk. He knows which fancy subscription seats are empty and invites “pretty company” to join…for half price. Total side hustle.

Inside, he seats himself like he owns the place and starts the nonstop commentary.
During intermission, he drags us into the lobby, introduces us to “friends”—mostly doctors, apparently—and drops life advice like confetti: love, money, random conspiracy theories about Mahler. Ninety percent nonsense, but said with so much charm you almost believe him.

For a month or two, it became a thing: discounted tickets, classical music, Mister Music’s endless stream of B.S., and us trying not to laugh too loud during the adagios.

Then he decides to share his “wisdom.” Then he leans in, a mischievous glint in his eye, and says to my friend, “You’re far too curvy for a doctor… maybe an engineer can handle all that.” He turns to me, voice low and teasing, “And you… you should be a little easier to catch. Cute, yes, but a bit too stubborn for my taste—maybe you could fix that? And hey—you could have music for free while you’re at it.

And just like that, encore over.

We ditched him and celebrated with late-night pastries and zero regrets.

Life without Mister Music? Pure bliss.

But life without music itself?

Not a chance. That would be like… unthinkable.

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