Confessions of a chocoholic

GRIN # 284

“Mom, where are the M&M’s?” Tyler asked this morning,  surveying the spread of candy he’d finally laid out on the dining room table. Last night, I convinced him he didn’t have to hide his candy from me anymore.

“Which ones?” I asked, stalling.

“Did you EAT them?”

“It’s possible,” I sighed, not daring to point out that also missing were a Twix bar, two Kit Kats and a tiny sleeve of Whoppers. What can I say? Biggest Loser was on last night. Right there, Tyler made me pinkie promise not to eat any more of his Halloween candy.

I don’t buy candy myself, but when it’s laid out in all its miniature glory, what is one or two pieces going to hurt? Or six–especially after a stressful phone call with an editor.

I announced my guilt at the bus stop this morning, hoping to shame myself. Instead, I got sighs and moans of recognition. Then suggestions: “Give it away.” “Throw it away!” “Freeze it.”

Currently, I’m feeling like I’m going to fall off the wagon. One wheel is wobbly. From my office I have a clear view into the dining room. There is a bag of Skittles and some Lemonheads Tyler would never miss. Plus, they’re fat-free.

I’m pretty sure my pinkie-promise applied only to chocolate.

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