Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Sweating the sweets

After 41 years on the planet I finally got smart.

I didn’t buy Halloween candy early this year.

Past experience has taught me well.

Buy candy early. Eat all the candy. Throw up.

Buy more candy. Gain 10 pounds.

So I decided to Just Say No this year and wait until the very last possible second to get candy for the little tricky monsters.

However, what I didn’t count on was my family’s less-than-stellar reaction to my plan.

“WHAT?! WE DON’T HAVE ANY CANDY YET?!” my husband screeched the morning of the big day. “THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!”

Whoa. Settle down there, cowboy. 

It’s not like I forgot to buy beer.

“Don’t worry,” I patted his arm. “I’ll get some later today.”

He puffed out his chest with all the self-importance of a guy who’d just planted a flag on the moon for all of mankind and announced, “No, I will get the candy this year.”

I’m not sure if he was expecting a fight, for me to defend my candy-buying responsibilities.

Like that was gonna happen.

“Don’t forget to grab something that’s not chocolate and something nut free,” I advised as he made his way to the garage.

He stopped, turned back around and grunted, “Huh?”

His eloquence is overwhelming.

I sighed, “Because some kids don’t like chocolate and others could be allergic to nuts.”

He looked like he’d just licked a lemon.

“What? Who doesn’t like chocolate?” he muttered and headed for the door.


You ever try to describe what Smarties look like over the phone?

Go ahead. Try it.

The phone rings.

Me: “Hello?”

Husband: “What should I get that’s non-chocolate?”

Me: “Smarties. Kids love Smarties.”

Husband: “What are Smarties?”

Me: “They’re like Sweet Tarts but smaller. Best thing ever invented for dentists.”

Husband: “Why don’t I just get Sweet Tarts?”

Me: “I don’t care. Get Sweet Tarts.”

Husband: (after a brief silence) “I don’t see any Smarties. What do they look like again?”

Me: (after I rolled my eyes) “What happened to the Sweet Tarts?”

Husband: “Just thought I’d look for Smarties first.”

Me: (for the Love of God) “They are round.”

Husband: “What color are they?”

Me:  (I wanna die) “All kinds of colors.”

Husband: (after a brief silence) “That doesn’t help. How big are they?”

Me: (I know about 12 different ways to kill him) “Jeez, about the size of a dime, I guess. Maybe a little smaller. And they’ll be stacked together in a roll.”

Husband: (after yet another brief silence) “I don’t see them on the shelf. I’m just gonna get Sweet Tarts.”

Me: (thank you, Jesus) “Sounds great. See you at home.”

Husband: (after a brief silence I hear him yell like he just discovered that beer has been given its very own spot on the Food Pyramid) “Oh, wait. I found them! I found the Smarties!”


That’s about 10 minutes of my life I will never. ever. get. back.


He arrived home with no less than 37 bags of candy. “What have you done?” I wailed. “There’s too much candy here!”

He shook his head and sagely said, “No, we’ll be fine.”

I waved to the plethora of sugar and pointed out, “You bought too many different kinds. You put all this in a bowl, give a kid this many options, and his head is gonna explode.”

He scoffed and said, “You’re crazy.”

I shook my head, “No, seriously, I’ve seen it. Three is the magic number. You have more than three kinds of candy and the kid will just stand there, looking into the bowl like he’s a fortune teller reading tea leaves and unable to make a decision. Then the parents nudge his side and mutter ‘hurry it up,’ which doesn’t help at all. Because then the kid starts hyperventilating. He picks up one kind, then puts it back. Picks up another kind, then puts THAT one back. By this time the parents are threatening to take away his XBox if he doesn’t move it down the street. Then he starts to cry.”

I looked at my husband and said, “Is that what you want? Do you wanna make little kids cry?!”

His eyes were THIS BIG. Then he cried, “I don’t wanna buy candy any more!”

Next year?

We’re moving to the moon.

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