Halloween Aftermath: The Wicked Spell of the Goody Bag
What's the worst thing about Halloween? Leftover candy. Maybe not as fiendish as the "gift" of artisanal potato chips that my friend Gwen showed up with the other day, but still way up there in the Pantheon of Food Shame. Those bite-sized pieces lull you into caloric denial -- how bad can one be? Probably not so bad at all, if you could stop at one. Which, of course, I can't.
Yesterday, as the discarded mini-boxes and wrappers built themselves into pyre-sized proportion on my kitchen table, the roof of my mouth rebelled in sugar shock but still I kept going. Just one more, I thought, they're so tiny. About 300 million calories later, the spell was broken by the bite of a very stale malted milk ball. But still a bit possessed, I picked up the rest of the leftovers -- amazingly there were more than a couple -- and placed them in a sack. I marched directly to the doorstep of a neighbor who'd been out of town on Halloween. It's only fair, I thought. The day after Thanksgiving last year she left three-quarters of a pumpkin pie outside my door, rang the doorbell and ran.
What do you do with your extra Halloween candy?