I have a love/hate relationship with science these days. One day, experts claim chocolate is bad for you, which I hate. Another day, years later, other experts claim chocolate is good for your heart-which is what I wanted to hear in the first place.

Actually, an ounce of dark chocolate a day is good for you, so they say. Who am I to argue with that logic? I love chocolate.

If only someone would find scientific evidence claiming chocolate will restore memory and induce weight loss at the same time. I would be forever grateful.

This month, I made the final adjustments to my tax return before sending it to the Internal Revenue Service. This activity generated as much pleasure as pulling splinters out from under one’s fingernails.

Unfortunately, my memory is not like it was 20 years ago. During tax season, a typical conversation about this time of year may go like this.

I ask my wife, “Honey, did we get the W-2 from your employer? Where is it?”

Her reply, “I gave that to you weeks ago, remember? You were leaving the house to play racquetball.”

“Oh, yeah. Must be in the pickup. I think I left it on the seat.”

One minute later, I shout from the doorway, “Where are my pickup keys?”

With the patience of Job and the silence of a lamb, a faint reply comes from another room, “Did you look in your coat?”

I look around for a second or two. Growing impatient, once again I ask, “Where’s my coat? I left it on the chair 10 minutes ago!”

“Never mind! I found it. How’d it get over here? Hey! The keys are in it!”

Seconds later, I call out, “Honey, where’s my pickup?”

Actually, it is not that way at all. In real life, I can find the coat and the pickup truck. The keys are another matter.

I am convinced my coat and keys have formed a conspiracy against me. The coat covers up the keys’ whereabouts and lays there as if nothing is going on. Other times, the keys move to another location when I am looking for them, only to reappear in the place I looked moments earlier.

Behavioral scientists may have a fancy name for this mysterious activity of non-living objects. I call it the “inanimate object convertus intellectious pokey funnus homo-erectus” syndrome.

Speaking of memory loss and the chocolate cure, imagine the lost-key syndrome once again after eating the prescribed dosage of the wonder drug.

“Honey, where are the pickup keys and my coat?”

“Did you forget where you put them again? I bet you are low on chocolates. Take two extra squares of chocolate every hour for the next two days. And don’t forget, OK?”

“If you say so, Doctor!” is my eager reply.

Seconds after consuming the required dosage, “Wow! I do remember. The keys are in my pants pocket, and I’m wearing my jacket!”

If only life were that simple.

My guess is people with an affinity toward chocolate tend to ignore the wisdom of moderation most of the time. Such food consumed in excess can become a major health problem.

Imagine a health warning for chocolate written like this: “Always consume chocolates in moderate doses. We do not recommend its use as a facial cream nor will its consumption guarantee a happy love life. Though intended to increase memory and improve heart condition, excessive consumption may produce symptoms like swelling of the intestinal tract. It may induce weight gain, leading to serious health problems. At no time does the manufacturer of this product admit liability from its misuse for any other purpose than stated on the warning label.”

Speaking of the benefits of improved memory, earlier this year, I was a guest of the Canadian Wheat Board, along with more than a dozen other American wheat growers. We stayed at the Fairmont Hotel in downtown Winnipeg, Man.

On the last night of our stay, we enjoyed a delicious meal at DeLuca’s, an Italian establishment. Their restaurant adjoined a cooking school owned by the husband and wife team. In addition, they operated a grocery store, stocked with a variety of imported cheeses, wine, chocolates and other imported items.

Ever on the hunt for all things “chocolate,” I found and purchased a package of Merci chocolates. Deborah’s birthday was coming up.

After I arrived home, we celebrated her special day with a dinner in Old Towne, Wichita, and topped off the meal with a square or two of fine, imported chocolate.

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