Let’s take a few minutes to talk about my favorite stash item that is currently in an undisclosed location.
A space no one knows about.
One of many stashed items that will confuse my husband if I ever die, and he comes across it. Why is this here? Why would she hide this? Why didn’t she tell me about this? What other secrets did she have? Is she really dead?
Obviously, if he found my candy stash, I am very much dead because there’s no other reason why I would ever abandon a half-eaten bag of peanut butter M& Ms.
They’re just that good.
This bag has been replaced more times than I can count, and I eat these things behind locked doors. I don’t mean that I have a few and call it done; I mean, I grab a handful of these bad boys and throw them in my shirt pouch and eat them like a squirrel eats their stashed nuts for winter. Only instead of saving them for an entire season, I eat an entire winter’s worth in about forty seconds before diving in for another handful.
Why do I do this?
Because I can.
And I’m a glutton.
Seriously, this is pure gluttony in its rawest form. It’s also greed, but we’ll circle back to that in another post. We don’t have time to cover all my sins in this post—we don’t even have time to touch the surface of this one.
Anyway, I started candy stashes about three years ago, because what does a girl have to do around here to get a break and some sense of individuality? Hide in the closet, eating candy from a stash that’s in a location she will take to her grave. That’s what she has to do.
It started small.
A cookie was eaten in secrecy here and there.
Then, I worked my way up to a bag of candy that was moderately hidden but still available in case someone found it. This way, I could say I bought them for the family and excuse myself from being a selfish, greedy piglet. Nevermind that I had eaten most of it by the time anyone found it, technically, they could have some if they wanted.
After that, it was bites of cake when everyone was watching a movie. Or stuffing my face with brownies while watching out the window to make sure I had time to run into another room if anyone came inside. It slowly spiraled out of control, and before I knew it, I had multiple stashes of treats hidden around my house.
One year, I bought four boxes of Russell Stover chocolates to give as Christmas gifts and ate all of them while wrapping presents behind a locked basement bedroom.
“No, you can’t come in here; Mommy is still wrapping.”
And it wasn’t a lie.
I had so many chocolates that year my husband thought the chocolate sprinkles on the basement bed were mouse poop. I thought my cover had been blown, but it quietly went away after he bought traps.
A few weeks ago, we had family in town who brought homemade pumpkin spice meringues. I didn’t hide them, but I stuffed them towards the back of the counter and piled things on them. I secretly counted them.
I can’t ever just have one.
I can’t ever share any of it.
I can’t even have a small glass of Bailey’s; I have to have a 16-ounce glass which is really stupid anyway because it’s whiskey; albeit candy-coated whiskey, it’s whiskey nonetheless. Do I need 16 ounces of whiskey? No one does.
I do the same thing with Eggnog. I wait until everyone is in bed and might as well throw a straw in the half-gallon cardboard carton and drink it like lunch milk. I do sit by the Christmas tree and look at the lights while I whisper to myself that I’m just being festive and indulging in the season.
God created enjoyable things for us to enjoy. The only problem is a lot of us, and by “us” I mean “me,” lack the ability to actually enjoy them because I overindulge. The freedom to say no so that we can say yes isn’t always a great thing because we will say yes a million times over until we are forced to stop. Because we lack the ability to enjoy things the way God hoped we would. When God oversaw the invention of Jalapeno Fritos, he figured they’d be a delicious snack to go with lunch. He didn’t mean for the entire bag to be lunch.
I can tell you that I enjoy eating fistfuls of peanut butter M& Ms but the truth is they aren’t as good as when I go months without any.
All things in moderation isn’t a cliche; it’s the truth.
I’m happy to announce that I’m down to just this one secret stash of sweets and have downgraded from the party-sized bag to the family-sized. My goal for the start of the new decade is not to have any secret stashes. I would also say that I’ll strive to be mindful of my portions, but then I’d have to add lying to the sins in this post. One thing at a time. After all, Rome didn’t fall in a day.
By nixing my candy stashes, I can actually enjoy how good sweets are when I decide to have some. Not only is this a good habit to get into to practice self-control, but it’s also going to relieve the extra pressure I’ve been putting on my pants.
Two birds, people. Two.
If I’m successful, there will be no hidden candy for my husband to find if I die unexpectedly in 2020. Unless, of course, I forgot about a stash someplace, and that’s very possible.
On some small scale, I already feel better about not being so secretive and selfish. I’ll be free from the slaves of the artificially sweetened, candy-coated goodness that were the cause of my shame and sin. And the cavity I might have in my furthest lower, left molar.
And that’s a good thing.
Learning to enjoy means exercising a little self-control as well as being able to appreciate what you have when you have it for the sole purpose that you get to enjoy it.
Hopefully, this will be the end of the chocolate sprinkles on the basement bed and the end of the mouse traps.