It’s been a week since Halloween. A week since I picked up my kids from school, had them change into their cute princess and warrior costumes and walked them around our neighborhood. A week ago, I held their little hands as we crossed streets and I waited patiently for them to knock on doors and collect candy. We stayed out until dark and we came home to the warmth of our kitchen where we sifted through Snicker bars, lollipops and Almond Joy (my personal favorite). On Halloween night, I love the holiday and everything it stands for. A week later, not so much.
You see, a week has passed and I’m still trying to recover from Halloween Hangover. What is Halloween Hangover, you may ask? Well, let’s just say, it’s my words for candy binging. You see, when my sweet little angels filled their bags up with chocolate treats on October 31st and brought them home to be placed into a large bowl on our dining room table, it was the beginning of the end for me. I’d like to think of myself as a strong person, but like Superman and Kryptonite, I can’t fight the power of the candy.
It taunts me all day long. As I head to the refrigerator to get a drink, I see it from the corner of my eye. As I make dinner for my family, I can hear that bowl calling me to take just one more candy bar. “What would be the harm?” the bowl reasons. “Just one more Jolly Rancher to get me through the day,” I rationalize. Every year, it’s the same. Every year, I swear that this Halloween will be different. But every morning for a week after our trick or treating expedition, I wake up from the haze of candy binging and shuffle into the dining room to sneak a Twizzler or two from the bowl until it empties of its content and I can finally put it away until the following October. I then spend the rest of November suffering the aftermath of Halloween hangover, too terrified to step on my bathroom scale and confirm the damage I have done to my waist line. Instead, I slide into my large and comfy, forgiving sweater, the one that hides the extra pounds so well and I vow to myself: “Never again!”
But it’s useless, I know. It’s a promise I won’t be able to keep.