The other day, as we were eating cheese steaks at Jersey Mike’s, my oldest son made an announcement.

“Cheese steaks are my comfort food.”

“Your what?” I asked.

“You know,” he said. “My comfort food, what I want to eat to just forget everything and feel better.” He took a large bite of his mushroom cheese steak. “It’s really good.”

My wife and I exchanged glances.

“You’re twelve,” I said. “Where on earth did you hear about comfort food?”

“WeightWatchers commercials.”

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