I was so impressed with myself, since I actually got off my can weeks early and bought a case of those tiny little chocolate bars. They've spent weeks sitting, sealed, on a tote in the basement. As I've been a selfish brat about not doing laundry lately, I figured I wouldn't have much cause to walk by it, thereby ensuring its safety. Wrong-o.

So, last night was Thursday, one of my favorite nights of the week. Friends, ER, The Boy at night school, peace and quiet and time to live like the little hedonist that I am.

(In order for this story to be told correctly, I have to tell you something about myself; I lie. To myself. All the time.)

As I was sitting there, having lit a few candles and warmed some Pumpkin Nectarine oil, it came to mind that there was chocolate in the house. Unopened chocolate. How wrong. Maybe I should carry out some quality control on that chocolate so the little kiddies would not come to any harm as the result of visiting our house. I could consider it humanitarian work.

Down the stairs I toddled, followed closely by a very interested Little Black Dog. I pick up the box and, as I'm heading back up, notice the Orville Redenbacher case of microwave popcorn by the freezer. Grab a pouch. All the while, this little voice (I have come to recognize it as the voice of Thin Me, the one that's always bullied into submission by Chubby Me) kept right on nagging. "If you put it down now, you won't have done any harm. You don't really want those chipmunk cheeks for all time, do you?"

I guess now is also a good time to tell you that I have excellent Selective Hearing.

Eight little bars later, I was pounding back the water to try and combat the damage. Then I had popcorn.

I only hope the kids have something left in five days.

Posted at 2:51 p.m.