When Laughter is a Better Medicine Than Chocolate

Evi was lying on the bed, looking miserable. She was on her usual side, with one hand on her pregnant belly, and the other over her eyes. Next to her was a small stack of mini Milky Way bars, all of them unopened.

My first thought: Unopened? Something is definitely wrong.

She looked up as I entered the room. “I feel so horrible,” she said. “I can’t even eat chocolate.” She started crying.

At first I thought she might be joking with me, but then I saw actual tears. Her pregnancy app did say that this is a bad week for some reason. I came over and cuddled with her, stroking her back. She started sobbing. She must’ve been in a lot of pain. I kissed the back of her head.

“You couldn’t eat chocolate?” I said softly, almost whispering. “This is a terrible, terrible day. I mean, the worst. First, there was the Holocaust, then 9/11, now this.”

I could hear, in between the sobs, some laughter choking its way out.

“I mean, they’re going to have to build a monument to memorialize this day. Like a 400 foot high, concrete, unopened bar of Milky Way.”

She still cried, but was laughing much harder. I’d actually never seen anyone laugh and cry simultaneously with such ferocity at each. “Stop,” she managed to choke out.

“There’ll be a Reflecting Pond in front of it, where tourists can look down in sadness, thinking about what this tragedy must have been like, and how they should cherish every day. Then maybe they’d donate a Snickers.”

She was just laughing out loud at this point. She turned around and buried her head in my chest.

I make a lot of jokes about how I managed to snag a girl that is so far out of my league, but I think she knew what she wanted when she married me.

And got it.