After seven days of grueling chocolate consumption, I’ve finally polished off the last of my Valentine’s Day candy. This is not to suggest that I had any great number of suitors showering me with gifts last week (I received one and only one Valentine this year; it was from one of my preschoolers and it was not edible), but instead that my mother is a professional when it comes to scoping out half-price post-holiday sales. And in this case, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“I bought you peanut butter M&Ms!” she announced triumphantly when I arrived home from work on Wednesday.
“I bought you peanut butter M&Ms!” I replied, brandishing my own shopping bag. In truth I planned to eat most of the M&Ms myself (it was a “family” bag, if you will) but I kept this thought private.
“Where’d you get yours?” she asked.
“Riteaid. Clearance sale. You?”
And no, I’m not making this up. My mother and I went two separate Riteaids and bought two separate bags of peanut butter M&Ms at half price on the same day, probably within a few hours of each other.
I have the theory about Valentine’s candy. It’s better to eat it all at once because the quicker you get rid of it, the quicker it’s gone and the quicker it’s gone, the quicker you can go back to the sort of eating habits that might actually increase your chances of acquiring a boyfriend.
As such, I’ve disposed of my M&Ms as quickly as possible… which reminds me of the last time I did have a boyfriend to buy me Valentine’s candy.
During my senior year of college, it snowed quite heavily the morning after the big day. I did what any independent, self-sufficient college girl would have done: I attempted to shovel my car out, gave up after about ten minutes and called my then-boyfriend.
“I’ll be right over,” he assured me. True to his word, he arrived half an hour later and shoveled out not only my car but also the requisite path behind my parking space to compensate for the fact that I’m a total wimp about driving in the snow and panic if my wheels start to spin.
Tossing his shovel in the back of his jeep, he slipped his arm around my waist and asked, “Can we go back to your room now and eat some of those chocolates I brought over yesterday?”
“Sure,” I replied. “But, um, about those chocolates…I kind of, well, they’re gone.”
“All of them?”
“The whole box?” He was incredulous, but then again he rarely ate anything.
“I’m in college!” I cried in defense. “College is stressful! I had a math test this morning.” (Math was the bane of my existence senior year, mainly because I had left this particular gen ed requirement until my final semester and was therefore saddled with an 8:30am class on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays during what should have been the swansong of my college career.)
“You’re too much,” he replied, shaking his head. “Come on.”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss having a handsome thirty-something year old to shovel out my car and buy me chocolates but being single, I’ve discovered, does have it advantages: firstly, I don’t have to share my Valentine’s Day candy with anyone and secondly, I can eat as much as I like without feeling guilty.