Halloween candy

What is it about that left-over Halloween candy that makes it so darn irresistible? I don't even LIKE candy all that much. I know that I'll regret stuffing it into my mouth. But every time I pass a bowl of it - at work or at home - I find myself chewing. I can feel the slowfat creeping up over my hips, moving toward my heart. (Slowfat works a lot like quicksand, only far more leisurely.) My pockets are full of crinkly telltale papers, and I feel jittery and queasy from all that sugar. Yet, I can't seem to help myself. Those "fun-size" bars are so small, so cute, so artfully designed to tempt. And surely, just one doesn't count. Or maybe one more. Or maybe another one. Oh heck, I may as well just devour them all. Picture me crouched in a corner with a bag of miniature Musketeers, growling at anyone who comes near and scarcely bothering to rip off the wrappers before stuffing the morsels into my chocolate-smeared mouth. I'm a middle-aged woman. This is not a pretty sight.

I bought this stuff to give away. Why can't I just throw it out? It has no food value, only empty calories. I can resist the full-size bars. There's something a bit daunting about opening a WHOLE candybar. I know for sure I won't want the last third, and I hate to waste edibles. But those darling little snack-sizes are so munchable! What I ought to do, when the kids stop coming at the end of the evening, is take all the left-over candy and run around the neighborhood, ringing doorbells, crying "Trick-or-treat!" and dumping handfuls of my unwanted excess into my unsuspecting neighbors' candy dishes.

But even if I get it out of my house, the candy is still around. Every secretary I know has a bowl of tiny bars on her desk. The hairdresser has a bowlful next to the cash register. The grocery store has absolutely killer sales on the remaining pumpkin-decorated multi-bar bags. There are five (5!) jack-o-lanterns full of goodies on the counters at the bank. You can't get away from it!

I feel like an alcoholic who buys one bottle of brandy a year to make the Christmas fruitcake, puts the cupful of booze into the batter, and then is unable to resist drinking the rest of the quart. OK, I suppose I don't have to buy the giant, 300 count bags of candy. But what if, by some incredible fluke, we run out of candy before the kids quit coming? Horror unthinkable! The world may come to an end. Maybe. Well, it COULD happen that way. We have never had more than 30 little trick or treaters. I could buy thirty Hershey bars for what I paid for the mega bag, and anything left over could be saved for Christmas cookies. But right around the first of September, when the costumes come out in the stores and the candy sales displays go up, I am seduced. Sometimes, I can devour an entire three pound bag of Halloween candy before October 15, unless I hide it from myself. Out of sight, out of mind works very well for me. Of course, that sometimes means that I forget I bought the Halloween candy, so I go out and buy more. Then I wind up discovering 300 tiny bags of M&Ms in the back of the guest closet when I do my spring cleaning. What am I going to do with 300 pocket-sized bags of melt-in-your-mouth goodness? It's a dirty job, but someone has to eat them.

I guess it's like throwing myself on a grenade to protect my comrades from it. Eating as much left-over Halloween candy, as fast as I can, is my way of saving the world. It’s my mission in life, my raison d’etre and my bete’ noir, all in one. It’s a dark-chocolate, caocao bean pusher’s top level secret conspiracy, and I’m the only one who knows. So hand over those left-over mini-Snickers Bars right now, kiddo, and nobody needs to get hurt.