The Oedipus myth, according to Freud, is one that echoes in our psyche like a glass breaking on a marble floor in the Bank of America. We are victims of an early infatuation–“the greatest love affair of our lives,” according to many psychoanalysts–and though Sophocles’ intentions may have been simply to entertain the masses, the byproduct of his play is a troubling theory of parent-child relations.
It is with great trepidation, then, that I inform you that my mother sent me a box of Godiva chocolates for Valentine’s Day.
“Vewwy intewesting,” says Dr. Freud over my shoulder.
“You sound like Elmer Fudd,” I retort.
Psychoanalytically, these chocolates represent an unconscious longing; each truffle a sugar-filled serum of temptation, urging me to kill my father, marry my mother and poke my eyes out. Instead, though, I take a picture of the box:
As you can see, I already ate one last night. This was after Tyresias warned me that chocolates will make me fat.
“Oh hush, old man!” I chortled. “Chocolates will do no such thing! Off with his head!”
Today, I decided to document my selection. Perusing the box once more, my eyes glided past the white chocolate star, the red-foil wrapped ball and the guilded dark chocolate three from the lower left. I chose one shaped like a leaf thinking it would be filled with a delicious raspberry cream.
“I warn you!” screamed Tyresias, pre-beheading, “There will be no cream in that chocolate!”
“Quiet old man,” I hissed and took a bite.
“Alas! Alas!” I shrieked. “Woe for my misery! Where are my steps taking me? My random voice is lost in the air. Oh God! How hast thou crushed me!”
The leaf was a bad choice.