COLUMN: Don’t Mind the Mess – My not-so-secret temptation

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 24/03/2024 (454 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I’m at the checkout, fumbling through my wallet for my debit card, when out of the corner of my eye, I see them.

There they are, strategically-placed right beside the till, calling my name.

“Buy me,” is their siren call. “You know you want to. Come on. It’s not too late. Just tell the cashier to add it to your total.”

Mini-eggs.

They come out every Easter, in all their cheery, pastel-coloured glory.

And sure, you can settle for the tiny pouch, and pay a buck for about 15 of them. That would certainly be healthier, and wouldn’t put you into diabetic shock.

Or…you can splurge (I prefer to see it as being budget-conscious and getting the biggest bang for my buck) and pay about $20 for the one pound bag. They go up in price every year, but the caloric value stays pretty much the same.

No, I tell myself with a shaky inner voice. Not this time. The last bag I bought cast its evil spell on me the minute I savagely ripped it open. When I finally came out of my sugar-induced fog, the bag was empty, my tongue was raw, and I felt like I’d swallowed the Easter bunny.

Nothing like a chocolate hangover.

“Oh come on. Easter will be over soon, and you’ll have to wait a whole year before you see them again. Just one more bag. The last bag of the year,” they beckon.

My debit card is still hovering over the machine, as the debate rages on in my mind and my undisciplined heart.

“Is something wrong?” the cashier asks. “Did you forget something?”

Here it is. The moment of truth. The angel on my right shoulder says, “You felt fat and sick for days after the last bag you bought. Just walk away.”

But the little devil on my left shoulder whispers, “Don’t listen to her. Come on. Do it for the kids. You know you’ll share this time.”

Feeling my resolve turn to mush, I reach for the happy blue bag, heavy with my sweet fix.

“Yeah,” I say to the cashier. “Can you add these? My kids just love them.”

She scans them with a wry smile. “Yeah right,” she’s thinking. “I’m sure they’re for the kids.”

I arrive home with the best intentions. One handful, and I’ll save the rest for the Easter baskets.

I make a pot of coffee, curl up with a book, and reach for my “one handful”. I pop a light blue egg into my mouth. The coffee warms it just enough to melt the milk chocolate inside. My teeth gently snap the candy shell. Ah! There it is. There’s that little piece of heaven.

An hour later, I put the book down, and not only do I feel like I’ve swallowed the Easter bunny, but his basket’s in there somewhere, too. Ugh.

“Okay, that was absolutely the last time,” I declare, tossing the empty bag into the garbage can. And a little voice says, “Don’t forget – they’re half price after Easter!”

I haven’t forgotten.