Apparently the universe has not, in fact, been sending me signals that I should avoid being virtuous by  eating more healthful superfoods.

Yes, I had three kale-amities, but I was wrong about the common denominator;

You see, I had thought it was the kale.

No, no, no, my friends.

This is what happened when I decided to have an afternoon cup of hot cocoa:

I somehow knocked over my mug, spilling the last half all over my hardwood floors, radiator and white leather Barcelona chairs.

This 4 ounces of hot chocolate had a seemingly disproportionate blast radius.

And while I got on my hands and knees and scrubbed wood and metal and leather, I couldn’t help but to smile.

Because the common denominator is no one food that I now must shun. I am no longer involved in divorce proceedings.

The common denominator is me.

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