I always love it when I feel justified in my weaknesses. So when I read this morning about a new study that says eating chocolate lowers the chances of a stroke, I was so happy that I popped another Kiss in my mouth and washed it down with a peanut butter cup. So if a chocolate a day keeps the doctor away then 5 or 6 (or more) should make me Wonder Woman.
Chocolate and I go way back. My earliest memories with my mom are in the kitchen making our favorite desserts; Chocolate Upside Down cake (which has been crassly referred to as Better Than Sex cake, but the jury is still out on that for me), No Bake cookies, Chocolate Chip cookies, and our yearly chocolate Christmas candies. I think I sense a theme here. I have never met a chocolate I didn't like. But then I met my husband.
When we were first married and I so desperately wanted to please, I would buy candy bars on campus, devour, and destroy the evidence. Or so I thought. More than once he found wrappers in my pockets. I felt like a little kid getting caught. One day, when I was truly desperate I did something that today makes my even my chocolate tooth cringe. I was several months pregnant and could not deny myself any longer. While my husband was at school I baked a Chocolate Upside Down cake, ate half of it, then dumped the rest. I washed everything up and he never knew. What a chocoholic won't do.
I do not try to hide it anymore. In fact, I am pretty blatant about it. Ther is chocolate hidden in tall cupboards and sock drawers that everyone knows about. Like air, my iPhone and Gilmore Girls, I have to have it everyday. And the hubby does not say a word. He knows it keeps me from teetering of that precarious edge I tend to hang around. It is cheaper than therapy and now prevents strokes.
Now if I found out that shopping at Target prevents cancer, Facebook prevents Alzheimers, and yelling at my kids burns calories, I am all set.