Candy

I'm moving ever closer to an eating binge. I can feel it coming. There is a leftover half gallon of chocolate ice cream in the freezer and it has started calling to me. It's calling now. I'm strong and have been for many many weeks. But it's coming. And don't get in my way.

Can you tell I didn't lose any weight this week?

Death.

Death and mutiliation.

The sad part about a binge is that it usually gets wasted on something stale or not that good. Like a three-month old open box of Wheat Thins. That makes one sorry binge, ladies and gentlemen. Ah, I just remembered. There is a heartshaped box of Valentine candy in the closet. I could have thrown it out. But I didn't, did I?

Here's how much I have always loved candy. When I was a kid in Peoria, there was a place called Thrift Center. I'm sure it was a total dump but to those my age it was paradise. I used to buy five--yes, that's right, FIVE--candy bars and one box of Luden's Wild Cherry Cough Drops as a chaser. I rode my bike and ate them all without a worry. It was heaven.

No one eats candy any more. People act like you're offering them poison when you hold out a box of buttercreams. OH NOOOOOO. NOOOOOOOOO THANK YOU. They actually hold their hand up in front of them up to ward off your offer, as if it were a silver cross to protect from vampires. Yeesh.

I'm getting pretty sick of constant zucchini.

CONSTANT ZUCCHINI is not a bad book title. I'm at 52,000 on Victory and feel alternately that I am a freaking genius or sad pretender at writerhood. Writerdom? Writerness? Yes, your writerness, I'll have your chocolate sundae ready in a moment.

A bientot

Becky