It’s over. I can breathe a sigh of relief. You know what I mean. The candy holidays. No normal human being can resist the constant barrage of sugary treats that appear in September and last until April.
It starts with that damn candy corn and the “fun size” candy bars. You can have a few because they’re so small, harmless really. Yeah, right. It’s only fun until you suddenly can’t zip up your favorite jeans unless you lie down on your bed and hold your breath. Let’s say that by some small miracle you make it through Harvest without gaining any weight. Now it’s the hap-happiest season and you’re surrounded by candy canes and chocolate Santas. Be careful here or you might get sucked into the sugar vortex that leads to an obscenely gigantic heart-shaped box of caramel and nut-covered chocolates, and a bag of tiny red cinnamon candies that, if you eat one too many, will burn your tongue and leave the roof of your mouth numb. Next you’re hopping down the bunny trail trying to dodge those pastel-shelled chocolate mini-eggs, (I refer to as “devil eggs”) and neon-yellow marshmallow chicks.
As alluring as all that candy is every time you go shopping at the supermarket, drugstore, or large retail chain, the real challenge, at least for me, is the day after Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day and Easter when holiday candy gets marked down to half-price. Forget the allure of the candy itself. Who can resist such a bargain? Clearly, not me.
Easter Sunday has come and gone and here’s my dilemma:
What to do about those Peeps? A friend of mine once told me of a long-standing tradition that took place at her ivy-league university. After eating one or two of the gritty, sticky little things, the rest of the brood got put into the microwave. To get nuked. Until they exploded. I swear I’m not making this up.
Summer’s coming and fortunately, there are no Fourth of July sweets to tempt me.