Twice now (this week) my husband has come out of his office to find me running out of the kitchen as if running out of the kitchen is normal. Obviously something is up. “Honey, what are you doing?” He walks cautiously into the kitchen looking around as if I’d boobie trapped the cupboards to bang open onto his forehead if he leans in too far to investigate.
“Nothing!” I manage to squeak from the other side of the drapery separating the living room from the kitchen.
“Nothing? I hear candy wrappers crinkling!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” This of course is coming out of my mouth as I’m pulling a bag of M n M’s from my butt crack. Tossing them onto the sofa hoping it will land from one crack into another and disappear before The Hubbs swings open the drape. He lingers for a moment scouting out the couch, the table, the chair and then looks back into the kitchen. “Honey! You found the bag didn’t you?” This is where I wish I had big brown doe eyes with eyelashes so long; they’d stroke the inside of my sunglasses. I could use some eyelash flitting right now.
That’s it, I’m defeated. “Mmmm…Yeah,” was my feeble response.
Now what? He offers a suggestion. “Now I have to hide the bag again! Why were you in the liquor cabinet?” After spending 2 days looking everywhere for that stupid bag of leftover Halloween candy it finally hit me, beckoned me to open up the cabinet doors and like Jesus rising from the dead there it was. M n M’s, Whoppers, Milk Duds, Kit-Kats and Peanut Butter Cups in all their glory.
The thing is I don’t even like chocolate all that much. I don’t crave it and it’s not what I grab for first thing in the candy isle. But, damnit! When it’s hidden in the house it’s like a giant treasure hunt! He can’t outsmart me! But alas, I’m the one that makes him hide it. I tell him to keep it away from me for the obvious reasons. I’ll eat the whole bag, puke (not on purpose) or lay there moaning like an alien baby will shoot out my belly button at any moment and when it doesn’t, I eat more.
When I think back this type of behavior isn’t uncommon for me. I used to write the Easter bunny letters telling him where to hide my candy filled basket. At the time I didn’t really understand the satisfaction of the hunt, I was just excited that the Easter Bunny actually read my letter and he was leaving a gargantuan basket full of candy for me and me alone! There were times when I would make what was the most incredible sugar cookie recipe EVER and then stash it in my closet. I would eventually forget it was there and months later (probably years) I finally cleaned my closet there it was. A giant mass of rock hard cookie dough wrapped in cellophane buried under stuffed animals and shoes.
Today, it’s a matter of keeping me healthy and sane. You know how it goes. I can have one. Ok, two. Maybe three. Nobody’s watching…so four will be fine. If no one sees you eat it there aren’t any calories, right? I’ve already ate the bodily weight of my cat…I’m screwed. Self, don’t mind if I have another. Ah, the vicious cycle! And my poor husband has landed right smack in the middle of it.
The Hubbs is what I like to call an enabler. As much as I love him and as giant as his heart is, I know there is always something stashed nearby. All I have to say is “I want something fun, Honey!” and off he goes knowing exactly what I speak of. My brain wants one piece of whatever he brings back just to satisfy that stupid urge. The Hubbs brings back 5 pieces…for each of us. I scorn him and he offers me a lopsided smile and inside I’m going to explode. Glory be! What magnificent handfuls of sugary goodness you bring! Dammit.