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Nothing is quite as fun as digging out a winter coat from the back of the closet and finding money inside one of the pockets.

For those of us on a diet, we know that even better than found money is discovering a long-forgotten stash of munchies. It doesn't matter how stale or old it might be, the fact that we've found lost contraband is cause for celebration.

I found one such forgotten treat last week while cleaning out the closet I share with my husband. Well, I'm not sure if I should actually call it sharing. Let's just say I tolerate his things enough to give him one part of a shelf and a couple of the smaller rods while my things spread out over the rest of the space.

I think I need to explain that this arrangement is necessary. Like many dieters, I have a wardrobe that spans several sizes. There are my fat clothes that aren't fitting so well anymore but aren't too big to give away just yet. I also have new clothes to accommodate my lost weight. And then there are those wonderfully skinny garments that I am determined will fit by the time they come back into style. Obviously, I need the room.

In the interest of needed space, I decided some of my husband's old shirts had to go. One by one I pulled his frayed favorites from their hangars and tossed them mercilessly into a growing mound on the floor. Gone was the green plaid flannel he'd worn around the campfire as a teenager. It had a hole above the pocket and elbows thinner than the layer of fake butter I spread on my morning toast.

Rejected was the denim shirt that hadn't found its way out of a closet since the early 1990s. Out came the stiff, blue work shirt with his name embroidered over the pocket.

I mean, really! Was I expected to have my new clothes wrinkle so he could keep a memento from his first job?

And then I knew I'd gone too far. Sighing, I dug the old uniform out of the pile. I didn't dare throw that away. Folding it into the smallest of squares, I tried to stuff it into a dark corner in the back of the closet.

And that's when I found the stash.

I have no memory of hiding anything back there, but, lucky me, it was my favorite - candy corn. No, it wasn't the good kind sold during Halloween. It was some off-brand bag, ripped open and then twisted around to stay fresh. Still, it was candy corn.

I dropped my husband's old work shirt and wandered out of the closet, cradling the bag in both hands. A small voice piped into my head, my dreaded Conscience, and reminded me that this was not on my diet. I did my best to ignore that persistent voice, and when Mrs. Conscience wouldn't shut up, I locked her into my I-Don't-Care Closet. I dropped into the rocking chair and opened the precious bag of candy.

I poured a few of the candy corn out into my hand, savoring the luscious hues of yellow and white. Well, to be honest, they weren't really yellow or white anymore. Time had faded the kernel-shaped globs of corn syrup into an anemic off-white.

Undeterred, I popped a few into my mouth. I would enjoy this small foray into rebellion, even if the candy wasn't exactly fresh anymore.

It's a good thing I didn't bite down right away. As the crunchy bits began to sizzle in my mouth, I knew this stash was beyond rescue.

Rushing to the bathroom, I spit the candy into the trash and dropped the rest of the bag in as well.

I could hear that nagging Conscience banging loudly to be let out of the closet where I'd locked her. Sighing, I resigned myself to the mental tongue-lashing I knew I deserved. On and on she went, telling me how I should have known better.

She reminded me of the commitment I'd made to lose weight. She even threw it in my face that I was supposed to be encouraging other people to keep to their diets, not give into such silly whims.

By the time I finished purging the rest of my husband's shirts, she was finally done with the lecture. Believe me, that woman can talk, especially when she gets started on my faults. I still have to clean out the pantry before the holidays. I haven't told my Conscience, but I'm still secretly hoping to find another hidden stash in there. With my luck, it'll be some really old packages of onion soup mix or old, dried lentils. Guess that's what I get for letting my Conscience out of the closet.