My mouth is a red, burning, festering mess. I've been binging. Again.
No, it's not a pregnancy craving, it's a full-on addiction - one that happens every February when they bring out those infernal cinnamon hearts.
I just can't get enough of the things. I'll start off politely, sucking back one at a time. But before long, it's two, three, even four hearts at a go, and the burning - c'est magnifique!
Don't get me wrong - I'm not a hot food connoisseur. Sure, I like a little wasabi sauce with my sushi, and I can take a medium heat when it comes to spicy foods, but I don't like to push it to a point of endurance.
Cinnamon hearts are a different story. They're sweet, and not actually that hot when eaten in moderation. The problem is, like a crack addict, I can't seem to eat them in moderation. Each one offers a hit that needs to be repeated until, before I know it, the lining of my mouth looks like it was ripped apart by a cougar.
It's madness, I know, but what can you do?
Well, I know one thing I can do, and I had planned to do it this year: Don't take the first one.
My intentions were good. I wasn't even looking when I passed the big vats in the V-Day aisle that greets you first thing when you walk into Stupid Store. Okay, perhaps I glimpsed, because I knew they were there. But that's as close as I was coming to them this year.
Until. . .
I was at an office for an interview last week, chatting with the receptionist whilst waiting for my interview subject to arrive. There, on the counter, was a bowl full of the evil little things. "Look away!" I told my self, "Look away!" I did not succumb. Not even when I had to return later that day to take a picture (of the woman I had interviewed, NOT the candy hearts). But the second time was too much for me. And something overcame me. Something I could not control.
The precious. We wants it. We needs it.
I got in the car and started heading home... past the first possible turn-off to my neighbourhood... and the second... and the third. The car was leading me. Driving me. To Stupid Store. To the V-Day aisle. To the cinnamon hearts. To bliss.
I grabbed a bag and headed through the checkout. I suspect my hands were shaking. "I need it man, I NEED it," I wanted to tell the clerk, my supplier. I headed to the car, lovingly cradling my drug of choice, then ripped into the plastic with animalistic abandon upon getting inside. My eyes shot wildly from side to side as I plunged my greedy fingers into the cache of cold, smooth hearts. I smelled them, deeply, before opening my mouth.
I started with one. Oooooooh! It was so good! It tasted like . . . another. Mmmmm, yeah, baby, hit me one more time!
And now, here I am, with open sores. It hurts to eat real food. But still, the cinnamon hearts go down.
Fortunately, this year I have a husband who cares about me (and our potentially sugar O.D.'d baby) who has seized what remains of the bag of goodness and rationed me out a handful (or two) to do me. Like my safe injection site.
Ah, love is sweet. And spicy. Love is cinnamon.
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14 comments:
I vividly recall eating a whole big bag of Skittles when I was 17. I literally couldn't taste anything for days. But at least I learned MY lesson.
Yeah, I've never really cared for cinnamon hearts. But keep me away from robins eggs at Easter. Those are addicting! It's just the feeling you get when the chocolaty malt desolves in your mouth. UUUMMMM!!
Robin's eggs don't really tempt me that much, but when it comes to those malt eggs that also come out around Easter, hoo-wah! I could just post this same blog again, with "malt eggs" replacing every reference to "cinnamon hearts." Again, though, damage to the mouth, as you suck on the malty centre and it rips your tongue apart. Hurts so good.
In regards to Amanda's comment, I think I heard somewhere that the definition of madness is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different outcome. Don't know that I think far enough in advance to even contemplate the outcome, but WILL I NEVER LEARN???
Robins eggs are malt eggs.
I'm confused... what are the speckled chocolate eggs then? (usually white, pale pink, yellow and "robin blue" in colour).
err.. "robin egg blue" is what I meant to say. Though blue robins are not an imposibility I suppose.
I think what you're thinking of is called mini eggs. They do look like robins eggs but they just have creamy smooth chocolate inside.(also quite addicting)
Next time you go to Stupid Store look by all the candy right when you walk in. There you can find a little carton of mini robins eggs. Right beside them you'll find a carton of chocolate malts. They are the same exept for the robins eggs have a thin candy coating instead of just the chocolate. If you're like me you might just walk away with all of the above.
Check out these links so you can learn to identify your holiday candy.
Robin's eggs:
http://www.hersheys.com/products/details/whoppers.asp?id=1283-1105
Mini eggs:
http://www.bewarethecheese.com/minieggs.htm
Is this what they mean when they say new and expectant mothers will obsess about the smallest things?
What's the excuse for the rest of you?
I wish I could attribute this to pregnancy, but no. This (obsessing about the smallest things) is what happens when you live in a place like Kelowna long enough. Sad but true. It's all we have.
It's pretty rich that you're receiving criticism about "the small things" from a guy who knows all the details about every injury, red card, yellow card, pay raise, sordid affair, transfer, goal, missed goal, own goal, accidental goal, and favorite color of every Arsenal player since 1906.
A little late, but nevertheless, I'm into the cinnamon hearts this year. Found them on clearance yesterday. This morning my toothbrush was still brushing pink.
Btw. Julie was pregnant with Ethan over Halloween. She ate so much candy before a regular blood test that they thought she had gestational diabetes. She had to monitor her blood sugar for months until he was born!
you were in heather's comment section right before me, so i thought i would obey her and read your post. i can relate. my drug of choice? candy corn.
It will make you feel better to know that I can eat a whole package of Peeps (you know, the marshmallows with sugar on the outside) all by myself in one sitting.
Gross, but true.
Hilarious post!
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