HALLOWEEN CANDY

I know that I am supposed to buy it on Halloween morning.

It will be on store shelves, waiting to be purchased.

It will not be in my cupboard.  Waiting to be eaten. 

Fie!  A pox on you, gods of retail!  Needing space for jingle bells and candy canes, you put it on sale. Two weeks before Halloween.

I brought it home and tucked it as far back as my cupboard would allow. Stuffed it behind the Wholesome Health Quartet: Wheat Germ, Flax Seeds, Cream of Wheat and Mother’s Oats- just to be safe. 

The WHQ, a fixture of that cupboard, has never called out to me.

But Halloween Candy did. It sweet-talked, sang, cried, cajoled. “I am here! I am delicious! You love me! GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

I waited. One whole day. Then I opened the cupboard and moved the WHQ aside.

“I’ll only eat one piece,” I promised. “One tiny, little bar.”  Bite size.

And four red foreign fish. They are smaller than our goldfish, after all.    

And one Reese’s Cup. Protein in peanut butter balances carbs in chocolate and sugar. That  combo from heaven is good for me, after all.  

I paused before tearing open packages. “Eat one of those fresh picked apples in the fruit bowl. Much better idea,” I told myself.  “Nonsense!” I countered. “That shiny apple is the reason I stand here staring down this candy-orchard cupboard!”

Desperate, I handed the goods to my ‘chocolate-has-no-control-over-me’ husband- asking him to hide it for (from?) me. I waited. One whole day. Then I wanted it back.

Husband refused to say where I could find the stash. I begged, pleaded, dreamt of his hiding place, searched for his hiding place, baked pan after pan of brownies- to pack with school lunches. Brownie batter is not Halloween Candy, after all.

Today, I will fill a jack o’lantern bowl with treats, from candy bags that I will not have to tear open. I will worry that I don’t have enough for trick-or-treaters, and I will vow to do better next year. Then moments after bedtime, all by myself, I will sort through four pillowcases bulging with Halloween candy.  

Each pack of chewy fish, and every bite size bar of chocolate must be deemed  ‘safe to eat’, after all! 

QUING HEREBY DECREES:  The consumption of candy on Halloween is henceforth guilt free!   

QUING of the WORLD

At least twice a day I read, hear or see something that makes me think, “If I was King of the World, I’d…”

“But you can’t be King of the world,” I scold me. “No testosterone. No receding hairline (well, no obvious receding hairline.) You are XX, baby. That makes you Queen of the World.”

“Oh yeah?” I challenge. “If XYs can be queens, why can’t XXs be kings? I want ultimate power. No arguing or usurping allowed.”

“If you were King of the World, you’d never have time to ponder such insanity,” I insist.

“I wouldn’t be cleaning or cooking, shopping or chauffeuring,” I counter.  “No working. Mending. Hobnobbing. Tending. I’d have all the time in the world to contemplate.”

“Contemplate what?” I ask me.

OUTRAGEOUSNESS.  HILARITY. RIDICULOCITY (Sarah Palin makes up words, why can’t I?) SIMPLICITY. INSANITY.  JOY. FRUSTRATION. PARENTHOOD (see Joy and Frustration.) LIFE and LOVE and…

 “There’s a whole lot going on in that head of yours, girl,” I tell me. “Get a grip. A planet of laundry awaits.  There’s dinner to make, and a baseball/basketball/volleyball team that needs to hear your obnoxious cheering!”

Can’t ever be King. 

Will never be Queen. 

So I hereby declare myself ‘QUING of the WORLD’! 

My first decree? 

I make all the rules.

This is gonna be fun.