Chapter 7
You know your are getting older when your tongue becomes your
primary erogenous zone, and Ding Dongs become your favorite partner.
I hate getting sick. I know--you too! What I hate most about it is that my house, which is never a model of neatness, becomes unbelievably messy. Clothes pile up, the bed covers end up on the floor, the vaporizer makes big bubbles of water form on the ceiling, and food and dishes accumulate on the kitchen counter, kitchen table and anywhere within 15 feet of the television. Vanity and appearance cease to be an issue. I don't shave, I wear the same T-shirt for days, my hair takes on the appearance of a frightened poodle, and my nose puffs up to add balance to the bags under my eyes. Plus, my appetite goes to overdrive! I eat every comfort food known to man and beast.
I can never remember whether it’s "feed a fever and starve a cold," or "starve a fever and feed a cold." So, I eat continually when I'm sick. I feed a fever and I feed a cold. I have my own formulary: Ding Dongs for congestion, Oreos for coughs, Snickers for lethargy, and Mud Pies for fever. This naturally leads to a weight gain, feelings of self-disgust and eventually a promise to go to the health club. Of course, between over-eating, coughing and wheezing, all you really can do is check out some videos and lie around the house and find solace in more simple carbohydrates. The more depressed you get, the more you eat, and the more you eat the more depressed you get. By the time you get over your cold, you need a psychiatrist, a Richard Simmons support group, and a dozen chocolate chip cookies.
I think food is the answer to a lot of things. For example, it’s easier to eat a cookie than make your bed, do your homework, pay your bills or do your income tax. You ask, "Chesterfield, did you do your incomes tax yet?" You answer, "Not yet, I'll get to it right after I eat this cookie."
Oddly, after eating a cookie you don't feel quite so stressed about doing your income tax, and so you put if off for "a little while." It has something to do with the narcotic effects of simple carbohydrates. There is definitely a chemical connection between sugar and a feeling of well-being. If sucrose were to be invented tomorrow the FDA would never approve it. You'd have to look for a seedy guy on a street corner to get your daily supply of simple carbohydrates. You could go to jail for possessing Sugar Frosted Flakes. Lucky Charms could get you 10 years. And, instead of a prostitute, Jimmy Swaggert would have been found in a shabby motel room in Memphis masturbating to a large bag of chocolate chip cookies.
I think it is an accepted fact that the most powerful simple carbohydrate food product known to science is the common chocolate chip cookie. Actually, anything containing chocolate is pretty good. I read once where there is a chemical compound in chocolate (phenyl ethylamine, I believe) that is exactly the same chemical that is produced by the brain when someone first gets sexually involved with another person. (That explains terms of endearment like "Sweetie," "Honey," and "Nibbles.") Now, that's a powerful chemical, no wonder chocolate is so popular. That probably explains why people who aren't in love eat so much chocolate. Or, maybe the reason people fall in love, in the first place, is that they aren't getting enough chocolate. This information probably shouldn't be shared with too many people, it would put dating services out of business, those wedding chapels in Reno would go bust, and people would stop having children. Chocolate would soon replace dating, sex, and reproduction. All of the industries related to sex would disappear. Imagine what this could do to the porn industry--Debbie Does Ding Dong. The end of human civilization, as we know it, could end as a result of a huge global chocolate binge.
Farfetched, you say! I have it from a really good source that in China, where population control is really big, they pass out chocolate to people of reproductive age. Fudge has replaced condoms. In Japan the government is paying people to have babies, the birthrate has fallen that much. And don't you doubt for a minute that chocolate consumption hasn't reached an all time high in the Land of the Rising Sun. In Amsterdam, they combine Dutch Chocolate with marijuana. They call this confection "Space Cakes." Just imagine marijuana, without the munchies. Nobody dates in Holland anymore, and the only sex that goes on there is among tourists and professional prostitutes, who incidentally are prohibited from eating chocolate. I think these are demonstrated demographic facts.
There are some good arguments for replacing dating with eating. It's a lot cheaper to eat chocolate chip cookies than a person. Easier too! Kathy says cookies are superior to men because "the cookie doesn't care how big your boobs are." Yes, there are lots of reasons why eating is superior to dating: you never have to deal with rejection; you never have to pace the floor trying to get the courage to call the cookie; you don't have to worry about the cookie cheating on you; and of course, you're not limited to just one cookie. After you have enjoyed a chocolate chip cookie you don't have to wonder whether you should call the cookie in the morning. And, when was the last time you heard of a chocolate chip cookie getting pregnant!
Now, there are some people who don't agree with my adoration and high opinion of chocolate. Heath Norton disagrees with my cookie philosophy. "CB, you're hiding behind your cookie. Nothing beats human contact, you're just suffering from loneliness induced performance anxiety. You're in denial man. Nothing beats hiding the salami, loading the cucumber, lathering the jelly roll, to follow your food metaphor."
"No, I'm just being realistic." I calmly replied. "Love and sex always complicate life, cookies don't."
"What you need is a Gummy Bear laced with Viagra?" Heath started to chuckle, and then continued, "What do you call a Viagra Gummy Bear?"
Without waiting for Heath's answer, I concluded, "A hard candy."
"See, your using humor do avoid the issue. You haven't had a date in years, and you are just scared."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes you are!" Heath templed his fingers and looked menacingly at me, "Okay, Chesterfield, prove it, get a date."
I didn't blink, I looked right in his eyes and said, "I will, but first I have to get over this cold and then write my novel. Want a cookie?"
"Got milk?"