I wasn't going to blog about this, as it is embarassing, but Jeff said I must, so here I am.
Last week, on Tuesday, a man came to restock my office's vending machine at the same time that I happened to be in the kitchen heating up soup. I have always wanted to witness a refill—candy is my weakness, and I am wont to stand before a vending machine with the same dreamy smile Audrey Hepburn sports as she gazes at diamonds in the window of Tiffany's.
Anyway, it was everything I dreamed and more: glistening red-orange bags of Doritos stretching back for a foot or more; bags of M&Ms stacked at jaunty angles. I was so entranced by the abundance of snacks that I neglected to see a large crate on the floor, which I promptly tripped over. I have a large bruise on my shin from the impact. Ironically, the crate was filled with candy.
Yesterday Jeff and I were cleaning the bedroom when he spied a strange object on the floor.
"What is that?" he asked. I picked it up.
"Popcorn!" I declared triumphantly, just as Jeff yelled "DO NOT put that in your mouth!"
"I wasn't going to," I said.
"I saw you," Jeff said. "You had the impulse. You had to think about it."
He was totally right, of course. I will eat anything. What is wrong with me?