small candy, big obsession

It’s official… from now until April 16th, CVS is enemy territory. Cadbury mini eggs are on the shelves. Cadbury mini eggs, my sugar shell-coated nemesis. When I was in Sunday School, they never told me that someday Easter would come down to simply this: my favorite candy on the planet, taunting me from its perfect purple bag of goodness for two months out of the year.

My friend planned an intervention for me once. One year he decided that the way to deal with this was not to avoid the mini eggs entirely, which only led to thinking about them everyday, knowing they were out there. He decided the solution was to bring a bag into our home and just enjoy it and get it out of my system. It was a pure, simple, optimistic plan, and it didn’t work. I wanted to eat the whole thing, so I made him parcel it out to me daily and hide it from me and not tell me where it was NO MATTER WHAT and that if I started going through this things he was to call campus security immediately and give them permission to taser me.

Ahh, mini eggs. Not to be confused with Cadbury creme eggs. Remember the commercials for them with the bunny pretending to be a chicken? I was so confused by that when I was little. I thought it was a real egg, and why would you want to freakin’ eat that? I asked my mom what the deal was and she told me it was for adults, which was another way of saying, not for you. So for awhile I thought that adults must like raw eggs dipped in chocolate and hatched by creepy bunny-chickens. Yet another reason that adults made no sense.

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