When fistfuls of M&Ms are called upon to deal the world’s grievances,
it is usually because the day has already tried us.

Because the Wi-Fi faltered.
Because the coffee betrayed us.
Because someone replied all.
Because the dog found the one square foot of carpet that mattered most.

Because the password requires a symbol we cannot emotionally provide.
Because the check engine light glows with quiet accusation.
Because the meeting could have been an email.
Because the email could have been silence.

Because the nation is arguing again.
Because the weather is confused.
Because somewhere a billionaire launched something unnecessary into orbit.

And because — in the grand hierarchy of absurdities —
we have run out of clean socks.

There are grievances of scale, yes.
Global unrest. Market tremors. Existential dread before noon.

But also:
a chipped nail.
a stubborn jar lid.
a typo in a text that cannot be unsent.

And so we do what civilization has always done when standing at the edge of reason:

We reach for chocolate in bright, unreasonable colors.

This is not snacking.
This is arbitration.

The bag does not open — it sighs.
The colors do not spill — they present themselves.

Red, ever dramatic.
Blue, calm in a way we pretend to be.
Green, aware of its reputation and entirely unbothered.
Yellow, sunlight in hard times.
Brown, steady as the earth pretending it isn’t trembling beneath us.

There is no global crisis that cannot be paused — if only briefly — by the authority of chocolate wrapped in a candy shell.

Breakups soften.
Deadlines lose their edge.
Political unrest waits politely while we chew.

Because there is something profoundly human about holding a fistful of color and deciding, deliberately, which one first.

It is democracy in miniature.
It is control in chaos.
It is sweetness without apology.

Somewhere between the crinkle of foil and the quiet crack of shell, the world recalibrates.

Not fixed.
Not healed.

But… better.

Because sometimes the most powerful solutions arrive not in speeches or legislation —
but in a bowl placed at the center of the table,
inviting everyone to reach in.

Because there isn’t a thing in the world that isn’t made better by M&Ms.

Except perhaps the sacred pause before deciding:

Regular
or Peanut.

The minimalist.
Or the maximalist.

The smooth operator.
Or the one who prefers a little structural integrity at the center.

Choose carefully.

History is watching.

Legal Disclaimer (apparently necessary):

This is not a paid advertisement.
This piece is in no way an endorsement.
No compensation was received — financial, promotional, or confectionery.

These are simply cold, hard facts.

Any suggestion otherwise is categorically false.

Allegations that a small but highly organized coalition of Red M&Ms detained me and demanded favorable coverage are entirely unsubstantiated.

Yes, they assembled.
Yes, they formed a line.
Yes, one of them cleared its throat.

They did not threaten to tamper with my Coke.
They did not hover menacingly near my coffee.

That would be ridiculous.

Completely ridiculous.

The Peanut M&Ms, notably, declined to comment.

(Please send help.)

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com. Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time.