Signs of addiction

Greg and I both like candy corn far more than any adult should. I held out as long as I could when it started popping up in stores, but last week they had bags of it in the checkout aisle at the grocery store. I couldn’t stop myself. Fortunately, there were several people in line behind me, so my shame kept me to just one bag. Well, that was gone in a day. When I got home from work the other night, Greg told me that he and Abe had gone for a car ride.

“Oh, did you go to the park?” I asked.

“No,” Greg said, embarrassment in his voice. “We went to Walgreens. For candy corn.” He hung his head.

So we dumped that candy corn into our little candy box, and we’ve done a good job of rationing it, but it’s almost gone.

When I went to the grocery store today, I decided we’d had enough of this candy corn foolishness. No more. After returning home, I puttered around the kitchen putting everything away and getting rid of things that had spoiled. As I rearranged the bottom shelf of the pantry, where we keep all the baking items that rarely get used, I tried to push a carton of flour back to clear some space. But there was something behind it. I reached back and pulled out, well, I think you know what it was.

I’m not sure whether to be mad at Greg for hiding it from me, or just laugh at squirrel man for burying his corn as winter approaches.