Chocolate isn't from Mars

“This makes no sense!” Lyra exclaimed, tearing a Mars bar from the shelf. “Chocolate isn't from Mars!”

“No, my darling, it’s not,” I replied calmly, as I put a bag of ‘giant buttons’ into the trolley.

“And what about these?” She shouted again, getting even more worked up about the chocolate branding. “The Milky Way, and –"

“Lyra, dear,” I said soothingly, taking the chocolate out of her hands. “Sometimes what things are called doesn’t make any sense. It’s just the way it is.” I turned and put the chocolate back on the shelves.

“Then why do people call it that? It’s silly!”

“Well, sometimes things that seem silly have a reason. Like, we eat Yorkshire Puddings even though we’ve never been to Yorkshire. But that’s where they’re originally from.”

“But chocolate isn’t from Mars!” A puzzled expression had overtaken the outrage written across her face.

“No, it’s not,” I said. But I didn’t have an answer for why it was called that.

I pushed the trolley a little further along, and Lyra, empty-handed, toddled alongside. “And these!” She exclaimed a little further along, pulling another item from the shelf to her left. “Why are they called Snickers? They're not laughing!”

I picked her up, still clutching the chocolate bar, and perched her on my hip. “Lyra, the world is a strange place. Not much of it makes sense. But how about we go home and make a chocolate cake and decorate it with the chocolate buttons I picked up?”

“Can I lick the spoon?”

“Of course,” I smiled.

“Can I eat some of the buttons.”

“Yes, you can.”

“They’re not actually buttons either though." Confusion was written on her face again. "You can’t sew them on and you don’t press them, either.”

I sighed and put her down. She was getting heavier than she used to be. “No, Lyra. They’re not. They look a bit like buttons though, don’t they?”

“I suppose so.”

“And they taste good on chocolate cake.”

“Uh-huh," she nodded.

“So can we go and pay for this food and leave all the nonsense-stuff behind.”

“But you said the world doesn’t make sense,” Lyra persisted. “So how can we leave it behind?”

I sighed again, pushing the trolley towards the checkout.

“Wait!” Lyra called, unmoved from where I’d put her down. “You said we had to go and buy eggs. But there’s no eggs in the trolley.”

I looked down at the assortment of food, and, sure enough, there was the buttons and the bread, the milk and the cheese, the bacon and the pork, but no eggs. I turned the trolley around, frustrated with myself that Lyra’s outbursts had distracted me from the reason I actually went to the shop. I would have come by myself later in the day, but I promised I’d bake chocolate cake with her and we didn’t have enough eggs.

We found some, which we placed in the trolley, after another torrent of questioning about whether the eggs have baby chicks inside them. Lyra continued to toddle alongside me, asking me anything and everything, as we headed to the self-service checkout.

Taking each item out of the trolley, I scanned it and let Lyra place it in a carrier bag. It would’ve taken less time just to do it myself, but she insisted on helping. I passed the eggs to Lyra carefully, and held back a scream of frustration as she let go of the box before it reached the bag. Five eggs crashed to the ground, their insides spilling over the shop floor. A shop assistant was already heading in our direction.

“It’s okay, Mummy,” Lyra said. “There’s still one egg left in the box.”

I let out a sigh. It might be a long time until I get my slice of chocolate cake.