Candyholics Haunt the Dark Side of the Holidays

Good evening, and welcome to our meeting. My name is Robin. I’m a candyholic. I see we have a larger than usual turnout today. This is to be expected. For people like us, Halloween is the beginning of a long season in hell.

Frankly, I’m surprised it took all of you so long to get here. The stores have been stocking Halloween candy for a month now. Lots of time to be tempted. Sure, it’s easy the first five or six times you pass the candy displays on your way to the carrots. But, eventually, you lose control.

We all know the slide: First you think, “What could it hurt to have just one of those incredibly delicious miniature candy bars? What should it be? Snickers? Milky Way? Baby Ruth?” Then you think, “Maybe just one of each. “ Which of course leads to “Maybe I’ll just have one bag of each.”

And then your family has to step in: “He can’t come to work today,” the wife tells his boss, “he’s got the stomach flu.”

“Mommy doesn’t mean to hit you,” Daddy tells the kids. “She’s just a little agitated from all the Abba-Zabbas.”

And then you bottom out. Sugar Coma City. Bring on the stretcher and the stomach pump. Don’t forget the Crest. You feel so . . . disgusting.

Bad scene, sugar addicts. But nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all been there. You are the victim of an intergenerational chain of abuse: Your parents abused candy, now you abuse candy. Think of it as a disease with a Halloween onset.

After today, though, it just gets worse. And that’s why I am so glad you’re here. Halloween is the start of that long, rocky--ah, make that bumpy --road through the candy-coated months of the year.

The challenge to candyholics is to make it from Halloween to Easter without outgrowing our doorways, ruining our complexions or losing our remaining teeth.

What sets us apart? I’ll tell you. Normal people look at a calendar and see a progression of holidays: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc.

But we see a progression of empty wrappers. For us, Halloween is not about pumpkins and ghouls. It’s about miniature candy bars. Thanksgiving is not about being grateful for what we’ve got, it’s about candy corn and whether to eat it by the handful or one by one, biting off the yellow top and savoring that before gobbling down the white and orange layers.

Christmas--oh yes, we know the manger stories and the marvelous songs about guiding stars. But for us, December is a ceaseless stream of candy canes, little red-and-white striped taffies with teensy green Christmas trees in the centers (how do they do that, anyhow?) and fudge, fudge, fudge.

We barely catch our breath before we’re staring at pink satin boxes of chocolate-covered cherries. Valentine’s Day. So that’s why them call them sweet hearts.

And just when you think it’s all over, the Easter bunny ambushes: marshmallow peeps, cream-filled eggs, pastel M&Ms.;

*

I know some of you are here only because your families have insisted on it. A lot of you don’t even know you have a problem. So here’s a little reality check for you who are here under duress. (Those who are here because of threats from a dentist are invited to join in, too.)

OK. A show of hands, please.

How many can’t buy Halloween candy before Halloween or there won’t be any left for trick or treaters?

How many ask your husband or wife to hide the candy?

How many beg your spouse not just to hide the candy, but to remove it from the house altogether?

How many toss a sheet with eyeholes over your head and hope nobody notices you’re not a kid when you yell, “Trick or treat!” in a fakey sounding high-pitched voice?

And how many end up giving out those lousy little Atomic Fireballs because you were afraid to buy the candy too soon, and when you finally got to the store, all the miniature candy bars were sold out?

I guess that covers everyone.

*

Tonight will be a crisis for many of you.

Some people, trying to be helpful, will offer advice: “Buy candy you don’t like,” they may say. “Then you won’t be tempted to eat it.”

This shows a complete lack of understanding of the dynamics of candyholism. There is no such thing as candy we won’t eat. Even Raisinettes. Such advice may upset you. You may be tempted to yell something like, “Excuse me, but not having liquor in the house didn’t stop Kitty Dukakis from drinking rubbing alcohol!”

But that’s not an effective coping strategy. You need to take a deep breath and come up with something positive. Like moving temporarily to France.

Thanksgiving doesn’t exist there. They don’t do Halloween.

And I hear the wine is just delicious.

Robin Abcarian’s column is published Wednesdays and Sundays.