And… it’s Candy Season again. No matter how hard I try to fight it each year it’s unavoidable. Candy’s siren song begins calling to me weeks before Halloween and though I push back the date on which I gather candy for the annual reaping each year, the gloriousness of (nearly) shame-free consumption gets the better of me every fall.
I lead a relatively candy-free existence for 10 months out of the year, but once Halloween hits, candy and I are pretty much inseparable through New Year’s. The trick-or-treaters come and go. I probably could unload all of my diminutive sweets on the kids but like Gollum protecting his precious, as the level of the giant candy bowl shrinks, my desire rises. I’m an otherwise reasonable adult, but when there’s a bowl of mini Snickers or Kit Kats in front of me I lose all control. I suddenly see the children as a threat to my fix, so I hoard. It starts with just a few pieces, but by the end of the rush I’ve unwittingly held back a fairly significant portion of the treats. And Halloween is just the beginning, there’s some reason or another to eat tiny candy all season long. It’s everywhere you go!
This year’s Candy Season has been compounded by my intense obsession with the Presidential election which started when I was researching Politics As Un-Usual a couple of weeks ago. And now I’m so on edge, it’s a perfect recipe for a Reese’s binge. My stress level is so high that the nightly feeding frenzy hardly engenders even my usual level of candy-guilt. Every time I think of the potential of a “President Trump” I pound another six mini Milky Ways, which leaves me certainly screwed under his possible administration which would no doubt require weekly weigh-ins of the female population. Maybe if I keep gorging myself on M&M Mars products I’ll be too fat for Trump’s America and he’ll deport my ass to Canada where my newly grown layer of candy fat will insulate me from the harsh winters of the great white north. There I can move on to Tim Horton’s and Molson to keep my weight up and ensure I’ll be denied reentry into the United States of Trumpmerica until the nightmare is over.
In the three days since Halloween I’ve left mountains of wrappers beside my laptop while watching hours of YouTube clips regarding the current state of the race. I’m going to have to start making ornaments out of Peppermint Patty wrappers just to save our fragile environment from my increasing faux-foil footprint. If I hear the words “Hillary” and “email” in the same sentence one more time, I’m going to start dunking my Heath bars in Chardonnay. Freaking email! Jeez, ever heard of a phone call, people? Not everything needs to be written down.
Please people, for our future, if you can’t vote “for” Hillary, do me a favor and vote “against” Trump. I need this to go my way. I’ll need universal health care when I candy myself into type 2 diabetes. I’ve tried to deal with my stress with yoga and meditation, but when I close my eyes and breathe I no longer envision my happy place by the ocean in Costa Rica. All I see is our impending doom if the bigoted, illiterate baby-man slithers into office.
The talking heads keep saying the polls look good for Clinton, but it’s not enough for me. I’m a worrier, it’s my nature and so this election seems tailor made to mess with my mind, and my waist line.
I can only embrace Candy Season and hope for the best (and that the sugar crash is not too devastating). Is it wrong to garnish a martini with Skittles? I’ll find out on election night, I guess.
Amy Serrago 