It is two weeks before Halloween and the unwanted house guest some people call “willpower” has officially moved out. Moderation is not far behind.
I am left with nothing but my unyielding passion for all things sugar while temptation lurks in the shadows.
As soon as the harvest moon makes its first appearance, I skulk in the candy aisle at the local grocery store—waiting, watching, and wondering how in the name of the Queen of Candy Land I am going to take off all the empty calories I plan to ingest over the next few weeks. But thankfully, those silly, meaningless thoughts are fleeting as I close my eyes, breathe deeply, and slowly take in the heavenly scents of chocolate, butterscotch, caramel, and candy corn. Lovingly, I finger each bag, purposely ignoring labels that annoyingly reveal fat grams, sugar content, and additives.
Like a Secret Service agent carefully groomed to protect the President of the United States, I quickly slip my sunglasses on and scour the area with my eyes before I gently place the first package of chocolate deliciousness into my cart. I must not be seen. With nary a thought for anyone else but me, I fill my cart with bag after bag of candy, burying the evidence under a package of mega toilet paper rolls. I survey the aisle once again. The coast is clear. I creep up to the checkout stand and pay for one package of toilet paper and fifteen bags of candy. The clerk winks and says, “My my, someone is getting an early start on that Halloween candy, isn’t she?”
I curtly nod and mutter, “Move it along, sister, I’m in a hurry.” So far, so good, but sadly, my mission is not complete. I still have to sneak the candy bags into the house—without my husband knowing. Past errors in judgment have proven that my husband will eat every last bit of that candy before I have a chance to say, “What the …?” As I drive home, I know that there will never be a better time to rely on my wily yet untamed female charms.
As soon as the garage door opens, my husband suddenly appears like an apparition. “Need any help with those bags?” he asks suspiciously. I shake my head vigorously as I step out of the car.
“I just have a couple of things, not heavy at all,” I announce as I wave him back in the house. He steps into the foyer, hesitates for a minute, and then sticks his head out the door just as I am opening the trunk, lifting out the giant package of toilet paper, and burying the candy under an old blanket.
“Sure you got it?” he asks again.
I slam the trunk lid a little too hard. “Got it!” I say a little too loudly as I follow him back in the house and shut the door a little too hard.
“I think your car needs gas. I’ll just run out and …” I don’t give him a chance to finish. I throw myself in front of the door.
“I’m fine on gas,” I answer without hesitation. His eyes narrow. He rubs his chin as if in deep thought. I know I’m in trouble.
“What else is in the trunk? he demands, already knowing the answer.
“Nothing, handsome,” I smile as I reach up and smooth his stray eyebrow hairs. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
I haven’t seen him move that fast since our first date. In less than three seconds, he had that door open and was racing toward the car. I wasn’t far behind, but unfortunately, not close enough to catch him before he popped open the trunk, lifted the blanket, and yelled, “Ah ha!”
So much for the wily yet untamed female charms. Sugar wins again.
By Vicky DeCoster–All Rights Reserved