Oh boy, an entire aisle in the grocery store dedicated to Halloween candy. If I buy treats now I’ll be tempted to eat them. Things could get out of hand and I don’t want a repeat of last year: I ate the entire bag and didn’t have any left for the trick-or-treaters. Then again, if I don’t buy them now, I’ll have to buy them on Halloween and this place will be a zoo.

I’ll just buy the small bag of mini-chocolate bars. That way I can’t eat any because, if I do, I won’t have enough for the trick-or-treaters. I wouldn’t want to disappoint the kids. Not again.

The big bag is a safer purchase. Now it won’t be the end of the world if I have one. Or two. I mean, there’s 100 in the bag. Sure, I don’t usually get more than a dozen kids in costumes, but I don’t want to risk having to turn away trick-or-treaters. I’d hate to disappoint the kids two years in a row.

I know, I’ll purposefully buy the ones I don’t like. Temptation removed. It’s not like I’ll end up eating a bunch of chocolate bars I don’t even like. Not again, anyways. But then I’d be punishing the children by forcing my least favorite chocolate onto them. Making the trick-or-treaters atone for my snacking sins is no way to make up for last year.

The variety pack is definitely the way to go. Give the kids a little bit of everything. Uh-oh, most of these have peanuts. I better get the peanut-free ones. But then I’d be denying kids who love peanuts some of the best chocolate bars. I guess I’ve got no choice but to buy the peanut-free pack as well. Problem solved. Everyone gets what they want.

Okay, I’ve got 200 mini-chocolate bars in my house. It’s just me and the chocolate bars. Willpower, don’t let me down. Resist the urge. Do it for the children. I better hide these so they’re not so readily available. Out of sight, out of mind.

The attic is the perfect place to hide these chocolate bars. I should probably take a few now so that I don’t have to go through all of the hassle of crawling up here when I do want one. I’m allowed one.

Ten seems like a reasonable allotment. I mean, there’s still 190 left. It’s not like anyone’s going to leave empty handed if I nibble on a few. I’m practically doing these kids a favor, what with their levels of inactivity and child obesity being such a concern these days.

They keep making these things smaller and smaller every year. I remember when a mini-chocolate bar was half of an actual chocolate bar. Now they can’t even call them mini: they’re “fun-size.” I better make it twenty.

I won’t eat all twenty now. No, I’ve got more self-restraint than that. But the mighty sweet tooth is demanding a sacrifice in order to be appeased. I’ll just have a lil’ taste. A wee sampling, that’s all.

Wait, what happened? I think I blacked out for a bit. Look at all of these wrappers on the couch. I’m surrounded by a graveyard of chocolate bars. What have I done?

Don’t panic, there’s still plenty left for the trick-or-treaters. They’re safely tucked up in the attic. Didn’t the neighbors have a mouse in their attic a couple of years ago? I don’t want to attract rodents. I better rescue those treats.

Weird, I don’t remember leaving the stairs to the attic in the down position. And why is there a trail of wrappers leading up there?

Oh no, it’s happened again. Gone. They’re all gone. I must have entered a sugary fugue state. I was possessed by the powers of chocolate, caramel, nougat, and wafers. Curse you, sweet confections!

What will I tell the trick-or-treaters? I can’t disappoint them again. I guess it’s back to the store to buy more treats. This time I won’t have any. Not a single piece. Well, one can’t hurt.


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