I have no self control. None. Notta. Nilch. When it come to eggies, that is.
Kansas opened up her stash and offered some to me on a recent afternoon. I've been offered the little chocolate destructions by IPJ and Isaac as well. I keep walking into Duane Reades all over town just to walk to the candy aisle so I can stand in front of Cadbury section staring blankly at the multitudes of stocked goods. A puddle of drool suddenly appears on the floor before my feet. I'm like the female Homer Simpson in those moments. I grab a bag, then put it back, then walk to another aisle, sometimes hair supplies or sometimes cold medications, but I always come back to my eggies for one list mental coma before I realize that I only have 3 minutes left in my lunch break before I have to go back to work. I panic due to the time constraint. I consider shoveling the entire store supply into my arms, but then I am slightly worried that someone I know, who doesn't realize the extent of my addiction, might see me with 50 bags of eggies. What do I say then? I don't want to end up as one of those little old ladies who's neighbors find her dead in her apartment, 4 days after her body has began to compose, buried in a mound of empty bags of Cadbury, with solidified chocolate residue on her hands and face.
Well, as long as they don't find me with 20 cats, then I'd be okay with death by chocolate.
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