Step Away From the Chocolate

Various types of chocolate.

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I had a bad week. You know those types of weeks: the ones where anything and everything can go wrong—the type of week where if you can imagine it happening, it will?  Well, for the sake of keeping this story short, I’ll just state for the record, it was a bad week.

Now, if you’re anything like me, when you’ve had a bad week, or a bad day, or are feeling down, lonely, or unappreciated, the first thing you’ll do is head over to any store, preferrably one that’s very close, and buy a bag, or box, of chocolates. For me, it has to be milk chocolate, with the exception of York peppermint patties, and it could be ANY BRAND OF CHOCOLATE. Hersheys, Godiver, doesn’t matter. In fact, let me go and get the box that I’m currently pigging out on. Be right back.

Okay, I’m back. So I was thinking. Why chocolate? Why do we go to chocolate when we need comfort? I know it tastes rich, sweet, and creamy. I know it releases endorphines, which calm us. But why do we eat so much of it? Read this to find out why.

The other day, after one of my numerous incidences, I jumped into my Mentley and headed over to Target and bought the king-size bag of York peppermint patties. I didn’t even get in my car when I ripped open the bag and popped four of them into my mouth. Talk about eyeballs rolling to the back of your head. Wooooo—wee. Those little patties are to die for. Of course, once I got home and tried to eat another one, my boyfriend came into the kitchen, watched me for several seconds, and then yelled, “Step away from the Yorks! I repeat. Step away from the Yorks!”

Damn it. Busted.

They can make a pill for every ailment. They should definitely make one for chocolate addiction.


Toast with gobbs of salted, melted butter


I love toast with butter. Don’t you? I can eat a dozen slices of that salty, buttery yumminess. And the bread? It can be any type of bread–makes no difference to me. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was so damn fattening, I’d eat it every day. Picture it. When the toast is done, it pops up from the toaster–all golden brown and hot. You grab it quickly so you don’t burn your fingers. Then you throw that bad-boy onto a plate and slather it with gobbs of creamy, salty, softened butter. And as you spread the buttery wonderment, you watch it melt . . . and ooze . . . and drip onto the plate. You have to eat it right then or else you will die. Two bites! And then it’s gone.
You look back at the toaster, and then you look over to the bread–the butter is sitting between the two, minding its own business, and you have to fight off the temptation to make four more slices. Dear God, help me!

I have a confession. Some days, I get out of control, and I smear on raspberry jam, too. The saltiness of the butter combined with the sweetness of the jam should be outlawed. Dear Father, why did you make me a fat-mobile?

But then something occured to me. As I stare at the bread, I begin to wonder if toasting it reduces the calories. I mean, does toasting do something to the molecular structure of the bread, which in turn, disintergrates the glucose; whereby, making it carb-free?

It does, correct? Okay then. I think I’ll have another slice.