Karl Marx had it wrong. The opiate of the masses is not religion. It is chocolate.

I can usually tell when a grief cycle is ramping up, because I seem unable to deny myself the simple, happy pleasure of chocolate products. And cheeseburgers. And Chinese food. And, come to think of it, bing cherries, too. There must be something to things that start with “ch” that sing “Self-medicate!” to my grieving subconscious.

It is so much easier to eat than to cry.

The next time you see me sitting at a table with only “ch” foods in front of me, gently pull the fork out of my hand and replace it with a box of Kleenexes. I and my waistline will thank you.