Come November 1, unopened bags of Halloween candy have a way of taunting you until you open them. For many days, a debate raged in my head.
Will you look at that? An entire bag of Reese’s peanut butter cups, all going to waste. Might as well open it.
They are my favorite…but no, I shouldn’t.
C’mon, go for it. You just pulled through a week and half of hell. You wore your underwear inside out, for God’s sake. You deserve this.
True…but while we’re on the subject of my underwear, I’d rather they stay the same size till the end of the holidays.
Now, now. One little peanut butter cup isn’t going to hurt you.
Don’t be so sure. Knowing me, one will turn into two, and before you know it, I’m condemned to devour the entire 2 lb. 8.93-bag. Better take it back to the store. I think I might still have the receipt…
Put down that receipt, you uptight little priss! For once, why don’t you try living a little? Do something spontaneous. Live on the edge. Splurge, before you end up a terminal old woman wallowing in her deathbed, with nothing but a collection of unburned decorative candles and a head full of unfulfilled dreams. Live, woman, live, or prepare for a lifetime of regret!
NO! STOP IT! I WON’T DO IT! I WON’T!
YOU WILL!
I WON’T!
YOU WILL!
And with that, I stuffed that bag of peanut butter cups away and out of my sight, on the top, dusty shelf of our pantry and slammed the door shut.
Victory! I resisted. I prevailed!
So proud was I of my impenetrable fortress of will power that I tore that bag open for a congratulatory peanut butter cup.
Twenty-four hours later, there is nothing left but a sugar high, an empty bag and 2 pounds, 8.93 ounces of shame.