I’ve never been a smoker or addicted to drugs. I’ve never been an alcoholic, a sex addict, or had disordered behaviors of any kind.

But I do have a problem.

I’ve known about it for a long time, but it wasn’t until this past Christmas that my family got involved. My children discovered in horror that their chocolate Santas were missing from their stockings as I stood sheepishly in the corner with creamy cocoa breath. I couldn’t even remember eating them, but for the shredded foil wrappers in my shaky hands.

I cannot control myself around chocolate.

Easter is the hardest time. Chocolate bunnies, chocolate eggs, chocolate dinners (when you skip dinner and just eat chocolate); it’s all too much for me to handle.

I should probably get help. I should wean myself off of that sweet Belgium tar. I should rid this house of any and all remnants of that creamy bean.

I will. I will. I promise.

Just after I finish this gallon-size bag of mini eggs…

2 thoughts on “Intervention

  1. I’m not a chocolate person at all, so the only Easter candy I’ve stolen from the kids has been some orange Skittles. If there was a national holiday involving baskets of potato chips, though, woah … that would be bad for me.


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