comfort food

I'm a nervous eater. Give me something to worry about, anything, and BAM! something's immediately in my mouth. AND 99% of the time, I can guarantee you it's not going to be a carrot stick. No sir, carrot sticks do not a pacifier make. I need real comfort and real relief. Bugs Bunny food does not cut it. Give me something that soothes me like a mother's caress. Chocolate cake for instance. Or chocolate chip cookies (newly baked in the oven and still hot) or an entire Amano Chuao Chocolate bar (yes, I've become a snob). As I write this, I see a common theme emerging. Chocolate does reign, but I am not so close-minded as to exclude other flavors as I seek instant solace. Pizza is equally effective at vanquishing the discomfort of anxiety as is a good hamburger or hot dog (with fries please). I cannot imagine how others cope with their anxieties, but if it does not entail food, well, I just feel sorry for them. These lesser strategies will undoubtedly leave vestiges of PTSD.

As we approach Thanksgiving, it occurs to me this annual ritual is the ultimate close-looped system of anxiety and anxiety relief. The stress induced from cooking for relatives (don't get me started about the in-laws!) and hoping it passes muster is way up there on the Richter Scale of anxiety. But how poetic and beautiful that at that moment, when everybody sits down at the table (the silent scream moment), there is all of that food laid out in front of you to gently appease you with its fattening grace. Ah, turkey, ah, mashed potatoes, ah, gravy . . . where have you been all year?

So (as you probably surmise from this small rant), I am once again gaining weight. Chalk that up to the bathroom remodel. No matter. Give me comfort any day over a trim build. It is a good thing I'm writing this. If I were speaking to you at this very moment, you would find it difficult to understand me with all of the food that is in my mouth. Oh, and could you pass the gravy please?