Squashing the post-October pig-out
Seven little imposters came to my door last Saturday evening: a princess, a couple of superheroes, a football player and some Disney characters. They came in a single wave and gathered around as I handed out the Reese’s Cups and the Mounds Bars.
This was the first time in a few years that anyone rang my doorbell on Halloween. Up here on Mt. Crumpit, there haven’t been many young families, but I’m happy that a few are moving in.
I made sure to be ready with candy this year.
The first year I moved here, I’d purchased enough candy to sustain me through a whole night of handouts, only to be visited by a single child. What resulted was the horror of the leftover candy.
It lurks there, doesn’t it? The fun-sized mouthfuls of chocolate and caramel and the little bags of gummies, sitting there in the bowl on the counter, mocking us before being shunned and hidden in a bottom drawer.
I suppose there are people who can look at a bowl of leftover candy and do not raid it, but I don’t understand those people and I don’t think we would be friends. That first year here I bought the little Twix bars, enough for 30 visitors. I was left with 29, and now what was I supposed to do?
I moved the bowl from the counter to the bottom drawer, the one that holds the weird kitchen tools like the meat hammer and the whisk. The candy was hidden, but I knew it was there. As I went about my day, redding up or reading or writing, the candy called to me from that dark drawer. Even when I was on my exercise bike, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Eventually I depleted the stash, but at least it was just one a day. OK, three, but still.
This year, I had to plan.
“Buy what you like,” said my friend. “So you’ll be able to enjoy the leftovers.”
Nope. I’m at the point where one small candy bar will require a nap.
I set out to lay in supplies, but only the things I did not like. This makes me an outlier, particularly with my children, but I don’t like peanut butter cups. They are so sweet they make my teeth hurt and besides, they melt quickly and make a mess. So I bought a bag of those. Next up, chocolate-coconut bars. I like coconut in cookies and pies but not whole mouthfuls of it in candy bars.
Now, I would be prepared for whoever comes to my door but would be protected from the post-October pig-out. I counted a total of 40 pieces of candy. Unless my neighborhood was raided by another town, I would not run out.
I remember my family running out of candy one Halloween around 1968, when our little dead-end street in Finleyville was a parade of kids. When my parents ran out of candy, my dad took pennies and strung them between long strips of Scotch tape and that’s what the goblins got.
“You could just have raided the candy we brought home from trick-or-treating,” I told my dad.
“How do you know we didn’t do that too?” he said.
I had lots of candy left over this year. Although this variety wouldn’t tempt me, I decided to get it out of the house. I donated it.
Now that we’re into November, I’m marking myself safe from leftover Halloween candy. Meanwhile, there’s one Nutty Buddy ice cream cone in the freezer. I can’t stop thinking about it.