Money isn't the root of all evil - chocolate is.

And it's everywhere. Every store is filled, every gas station is plagued, every school-aged child is peddling it on a street, or better yet, bringing it right to my door.

You can't escape chocolate.

And yet "they" say we're one of the most obese nations. I say in a rather annoyed, yet dramatic fashion, "duh."

How can I possibly expect to lose weight with the existence of Hershey's Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate with Toffee and Almonds?

I think the man that invented chocolate must have been an evil genius - there's no other explanation for such a temptingly delicious and destructive creation. He obviously wanted to destroy all of mankind, and although his plans might take many, many years, he's winning, one bag of Hershey's Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate with Toffee and Almonds at a time.

As most other women, I'm on a perpetual diet. My diet is great at work - diet bars, diet drinks, diet everything. But there's nothing like loved ones to murder a diet, cut it up into little pieces and wag it in your defeated face.

What is my significant other's food of choice, you ask? Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

Sure, with genes like his, he can eat a bag of peanut butter cups a day and not gain weight for six months. If he gains any weight at all.

If I eat three peanut butter cups (the small ones mind you), I can feel my pants instantaneously tighten.

Not to mention the guilt I feel. Three peanut butter cups, and I am bludgeoned with horrific images of myself as the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man, griping incomprehensibly as I throw gobs of sticky chocolate at innocent bystanders and knock over New York City skyscrapers.

I shudder while thinking of the chocolate-covered carnage left in my wake.

So I don't even buy the stuff, and yet, it finds it's way into my life. Like the bowl of Hershey nuggets at the desk next to me - the ones with which I avoid eye contact, so as to maintain my sanity.

Or the Reese's wrappers lying casually in the trash that I seriously consider excavating the moment I'm alone. Just to make sure there isn't any chocolate left. Of course, I'd hate for the trash bag to be sticky.

Even the dog treats, carob chocolate as they may be, bring about the devil's sweet playground. I think he's as addicted to fake chocolate as I am the real stuff. I'd hate to see the day he sneaks a piece of real chocolate - he'd probably never be the same dog again. After all, I've seen his crazed antics while receiving post-bath time treats. If he got a Hershey's Nugget, he'd probably follow me around the entire day with wide eyes, all strung out for "just one more fix."

I fear for those around him that day, as he will most likely run about in a frenzy, foaming at the mouth, tipping over trash cans, attacking anyone in his way while searching for the smallest trace of cocoa.

At least that's what I did during my chocolate detox.

But alas, why lie to myself? I go through detox about every three weeks, because I'm weak and, eventually, Hershey's Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate with Toffee and Almonds breaks me. Breaks me like a frozen Hershey bar in a cold, cold Siberian blizzard.

And if it's not Hershey's nuggets, it's Twix, or Milky Way Midnight. And without Twix or Milky Way Midnight, there's always Cadbury, the creamiest chocolate of them all. What would I do without Cadbury Cream Eggs?

I rue the day Milton Hershey first laid his hands on a cocoa bean as I pop a PB cup, yet another chocolate fix to quiet my craze for the day. Week ... I meant week.

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Katy Blair, Globe associate editor and Effingham native, can be reached at 367-0583, Ext. 210, or at katyblair@npgco.com.

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