The morning after

Well, well, well. What have we here? It seems to be a nearly demolished bag of Halloween candy! It couldn't be that this motherlode of candy was consumed by Amy, not after her ceaseless preaching of her own nutrition-savvy? Not after she has done so much research she can spell diabetes sideways and has sworn to get her jollies from cucumbers forevermore? Not when she insisted that waiters bring the steamed broccoli with no salt or she would call the management?

Could it?

This, my dear friends, is the result of every grown-up lady's worst nightmare and fondest wish: that the kid inside is occasionally, if uncontrollably, very much in charge.

This morning after I dropped off my sweet salad-grubbing husband off at school, I thought I would run some of those errands I neglected to run yesterday. So I stopped at the grocery store. It was only seven-fifteen a.m., so things still had that cozy early-morningness to them, and I planned to grab some cilantro and cashews and head home to make some min-e-ve-gan-stro-ne. However, when I entered the store, my senses, and sensibilities, were assaulted. Bags of candy for 79 cents each. I assure you, I have never bought a bag of candy in my life but, for some reason, this was a bargain I could not pass up. I bought a BAG of CANDY and ate it for BREAKFAST. Sick.

Not all of it. But, by my calculations, 970 calories worth. I was appalled. You should be too. Just under One Thousand Calories of Nothing.

I guess I should eat some humble pie, on account of my oft-pontification. Or, better yet, make it a humble salad.