I was all set to post this morning about the luscious steak, roasted yams, asparagus with almondine sauce, chocolate-dipped strawberries and bruschetta I served for Valentine's Day dinner. Or at least about the wonderful day we spent just an hour north of Crater Lake snowshoeing, relaxing and snowball fighting in the mountains for President's Day. Or about speaking too soon about not having any illness since before Thanksgiving and waking up to a coughing baby several times last night. Or about how (most of) my letter was actually published.
But, alas, more pressing matters occupy my thoughts now.
I was at the grocery store very early this morning, thinking how grateful I was that the only Valentine's Day paraphernalia remaining are four day-old brownie bites that look extremely disgusting, and how I might actually be able to stay away from the chocolate now that the New and Improved holiday season is over. (You haven't heard of this holiday? It is called Hallothankschrisnewval Day. What it celebrates, apparently, is copious amounts of festively wrapped chocolate and special edition Hershey Kisses and the gaining of 10 pounds. )
And then I saw them.
Box after purple box filled with "big" bags of Cadbury Mini Eggs. "Big" must be Cadbury's subliminal marketing campaign this year. The bag, in fact, appears to be half the size of last year's and costs at least a dollar more. I walked past the display three times, repeating to myself, "Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it." You see, if I get them then I will eat all of them. Plantboy doesn't like them (I know, I know he's hardly human); and the kids, well, it doesn't seem right to share with them when they honestly believe the Mini Eggs are just funny shaped M & M's.
And then, oh then, I saw the tiny bag. $.52. I picked it up--dare I say reverently? It was so light; what are they, a nickel apiece? I stared into my cart full of fruits and vegetables and whole wheat English muffins and low-fat yogurt and two kinds of beans and skim milk and uber-lean meat and I knew I had to have them. I threw the little bag on the top of the righteous groceries and practically ran to the checkout, as if I had stolen something, forgetting the remaining three items on my list in my haste to be away.
As I bagged my groceries the tempting purple pouch came closer and closer. "Just bag it with the rest of the groceries," I told myself. I continued repeating such until I slipped it into the side pocket of my purse. I had to; the well-behaved purchases didn't seem to want the dangerously tempting Mini Eggs anywhere near them.
I loaded the car and sat down, staring at the purse telling myself, "It isn't even seven in the morning yet; it is really not the time for chocolate." And I swear I heard a seductive whisper from the depths of my innocent-looking bag, "Oh, STM, it's always time for chocolate. Especially this chocolate."
Just one, or maybe two then. Three is a nice round number; no, wait, FIVE is better.
Half the bag was eaten before I made it out of the parking lot. I folded the top over carefully, vowing to save the rest of the chocolaty goodness for later. . .
Half a mile up the road is later. It is. And it was really such a tiny bag.
I am so going to look like the Easter bunny in two months. I mean, except I won't be completely covered in hair or have really big ears.