PART TWO: But this year, I don’t want to be left with dozens of little candy bars, and I struggle just as much with the thought of giving them away as I do with trashing them. This is how I ended up searching for Mounds. I will not be remotely tempted, and the only circumstance in which I could imagine eating one involves a desert island surrounded by sharks. Even then, I might swim.
CVS was out of Mounds.
I was flummoxed. How could they be out? They were out of peanut butter cups, but those are a favorite of almost everyone. Yet the goblin turds that are Mounds? I searched the aisle once, twice, three times, and then the good candy began to call to me. I picked up the assortment of Hershey’s and Krackle and Goodbar, stroking wrappers through the plastic sheath; a lusty look was shot to KitKats. Gay Panda is not often bothered by sugar cravings, especially at Whole Foods where the candy is unappealing hippie brands no wily advertising campaign seeded in my brain when I was young and vulnerable to marketing. I never imprinted on Auntie Flower’s Vegan Organic Gummy Drops (gluten free) Made With Black Carrot Juice Concentrate. Dammit, I want my artificial flavors!
I was surrounded by everything I once wanted as a cub. I stood in the aisle getting very grouchy and feeling very deprived that I was purposely selecting what was gross so that I wouldn’t eat it when I wanted to eat it. Then it hit me. You know what I was going to do? I knew. I was going to hand out apples! Yes, I would be THAT house. And I’d turn the hose on anyone who complained. No, not apples. FLOSS! Even better! I’d hand out floss and make a Power Ranger cry.
It occurred to me that the reason I was getting into a state was that I had been happily writing all day long, and when I am intense on my work, I do not tend to bodily needs. Lady Friend says that one day I will write myself into a bladder infection, because I can’t stand being interrupted. I’ll skip eating, or else grab something small to stave off the worst of it**, and that day I had had a swallow of heavy cream for dinner. Then I returned to work and lost myself in more interesting things, forgot the details of my meal and considered myself having eaten.
So I was famished and in a candy aisle, and after the Gelato Incident of the 21st, my body has regarded sugar with more interest. It was time for damage control. Getting a bag of my favorite candy was off-limits. Getting a bag of the grossest thing that I could find, and buying myself a candy bar was acceptable. I am not deprived if I have a candy bar, and I have not knocked myself out of weight loss*** for as long as I would with a bag.
But there were no Mounds! No banana-flavored Laffy Taffy! Then I saw Mars Bars. I do not loathe them, but I do not like them. They went into the okay or bad piles when I was a cub, depending on the quality of the other treats. Gay Panda has never lusted after a Mars Bar and despises almonds for the way they squeak on my teeth. Bringing home a bag is relatively safe. I might eat one or two to remind myself of why I don’t like them, and then I’ll send them to work with Lady Friend to give away. I snatched up a bag and went in search of my candy, bypassing Movie Size boxes for a demure Take 5. There. I have candy. The zombies have candy. And I got the hell out of CVS.