Sin is a five-letter word packaged in a pretty, little wrapper


Candy. Yes, that’s what I’m talking about. That and all those quaint, little stores built for people who are brave.  People who have the kind of willpower to withstand, for the most part, every mouth-watering aphrodisiac that affronts their senses from the moment they walk through that door to the very moment they leave without being seduced to buy it all.

Well, I am not one of those people.  I am neither strong, nor courageous.  Picky or prejudiced.   When it comes to candy, candy of any kind…I am but a spineless, wimp of jelly.  Restraint.  Moderation.  Abstinence. These words are simply not part of my vernacular.

However…Sugar Daddies, Good & Plenty, M&Ms, Skittles, Tootsie Roll, Jolly Ranchers, Pez, Sweet Tarts, Marshmallow Peeps, York Peppermint Patties, Sour Balls, Hershey’s Kisses, Almond Joy, Pixie Stix, Baby Ruth, Jelly Belly, Chuckles, Pop Rocks, Cadbury, See’s, Root Beer Barrels, Twizzlers and Candy Corn…most definitely are.

So what if my smile will never grace the cover of Dental Health?  Who cares if I’ll never be the skinniest girl on the block?  I’ve accepted those realities long ago in lieu of the one thing I truly believe, or (gulp) think I believe matters:  dying a happy woman.  Fat, but happy.  Now if I’m wrong about any of this…oh well c’est la vie!



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