L. David Wheeler

I like chocolate. From this first principle, interesting adventures derive [themselves]. I used to favor Hershey's Kisses, but the logistics of fiddling with tiny wrappers during an arthritis flare were an obstacle. Then I hit upon the bag of milk chocolate chips as my delivery vector of choice; direct chocolate hit, chocolatier taste, no fiddly wrappers - what's not to like?

When they're not to be found, that's what. Over a couple of weeks, due to scarcity, my sweet spouse went to more than one store, for me. Then, last week, there were none to be found anywhere. He brought me a bag of Kroger's store brand and a bag of Ghirardelli. While not as chocolatey and with more beat-up looking chips, the Kroger was still an acceptable alternative. Ironically enough, the Ghirardelli bag combined being significantly more expensive with larger chips. My spouse called the chocolate taste "understated." I called it "nonexistent." Nothing like paying more for less flavor.

This week, relief was in sight, as he returned home victorious with the desired chocolate. Those first chips after a week of deprivation were intensely pleasurable. [I may have to do extra walks this week, weather permitting.]

As I went towards the fridge this afternoon, in anticipation of more chocolate chip goodness, I heard music in my head. I'm a filker; this isn't exactly a surprise. Bill & Gretchen Roper have an excellent song on the subject, "My Husband The Filker." As I let the tune play out to see which one it was, "Sha bop, sha bop" flowed into "I Only Have Eyes For You", a decidedly apt tune for chocolate on an overcast winter afternoon.