Dang that Halloween candy

Last night, in a moment of weakness, in a moment of WE'RE ALL OUT OF ICE CREAM WHAT WILL WE POSSIBLY DO WHILE WE WATCH INTERVENTION weakness, we tore into the bags of Halloween candy. I am not ashamed. I'm just proud that it has been in my pantry for WEEKS and I haven't even touched it. Before we knew it, the candy was gone. I hate when it's gone. Like any moment of naughtiness, it's only fun when it starts, not when it's over and you're looking guiltily at the surrounding pile of evidence, realizing what you've done. That's not fun.

What else isn't fun is facing your daughter when she finds the all of the empties in a pile on top of the garbage can. The worst part is finding evidence of your naughtiness while showering the next morning. It's not fun realizing that part of a candy wrapper must have fallen down the front of your shirt as you tore into those little bars of 100 Grand heaven. It's not fun realizing that the reason it didn't make it out of your shirt until this morning was because it was logged up under your saggy panacakes. Or admitting that the candy incident wasn't really last night, it was the night before, so that little wrapper was under there for two nights. It's not fun losing that much self respect in 24 hours.