A junkie’s guide to surviving Halloween candy addiction

My name is Marianne.

I am a candy-holic.

It has been six hours since my last Kit Kat.

As someone cursed with complete lack of self control in the area of chocolate consumption, October is extremely trying. Despite decades of evidence to the contrary, I always believe I can stop with just one Butterfinger.

Maybe one BAG of Butterfingers, that is.

Long ago, I heeded Nancy Reagan’s advice and said no to drugs. I have never dropped a mortgage payment on the slots.  I do not have a Pinterest problem.

But Halloween candy?

I’d sell my kids into serfdom for a hit of Milky Way.

No stranger to the pitfalls of this most challenging of seasons, I have taken numerous precautions over the years to keep damage to a minimum. Some have worked. Some have not.

For those who find themselves in a similar predicament, I have put together a brief guide for surviving the Halloween season:

  1. Do not put your husband in charge of hiding any purchased Halloween candy. In his mind, your “high cabinet” is akin to Mount Ararat. It has never taken longer than eight minutes to locate the stash when I assign Joe. Instead? I bring in a professional, the man who successfully hid a gun in my childhood home for 20 years without us finding it—Special Agent Dad. The only problem? He doesn’t always remember where he hides things now.
  2. Never, ever purchase your favorites. Stick with the nasty orange and black wrapped mystery nuggets that get tossed around Christmas.
  3. Stay away from Target. There is hardly an aisle you can go down without a direct view of temptation.
  4. Listen to the stories of children with allergies. Buy a teal pumpkin. Distribute spider rings. Convince yourself you’re doing it all “for the kids.” Nobody needs to know you’re a big, fat liar.
  5. Warn your kids about the candies that face the most peril upon entering your house. Those babies will be hidden or eaten faster than you can say, “Got any M&Ms?” Unlike your husband’s methods, you’ll never find them. And unlike your dad, the children ALWAYS remember where they hid stuff.

Good luck, my valiant brethren. I’ll be thinking of you as soon as I get the step stool and crack open my Target stash of Almond Joys.

It’s not like I’m perfect.

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