Who You Calling Emotional?

So, there I was, sitting around dreaming of my chocolate stash, deciding which I would open first. It wasn’t enough to have delicious dark chocolate; I wanted it chock full of something. I was thinking I’d choose a bar with nuts. And then…just as we were getting ready to leave for a family fun afternoon at a nature center, my daughter had a melt-down, which resulted in her being sent to her room, and my husband and her brother going on the trip without us.

Dear reader, I was a blur as I ran to the coat closet to retrieve my chocolate (shhh, nobody knows it’s in there). I grabbed blindly for something, anything, clutching a shiny wrapper in my little paws, tearing open a corner with my teeth like a possessed weasel. Wait, I’m supposed to eat one ounce! I quickly glance at the nutritional content. Screw it! I don’t have time for MATH!

I broke off a chunk and popped it into my mouth, chewed and swallowed, barely registering the taste, until moments later, after I’d re-stashed the bag, when I realized, wow, that was really good, I mean, awesomely good. What was that exactly? I go back to the closet: Ghirardelli Intense Dark Toffee Interlude. I wish I’d, you know, savored that, instead of injecting it directly into my bloodstream.

Will this happen again? Most likely. Is there a moral here? I don’t know. I’ll leave that to the psychologists, but if you’re a type who likes labels, I guess you can slap a big one on my forehead that says, “Emotional Eater.” Let me re-introduce myself. Hi, my name is Marcy, and I’m an Emotional Eater.

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