I have a problem, it’s called Reese’s Peanut butter eggs, and I think they’re ruining my life.
Here’s proof via a conversation I had with my husband last night:
Me: Do you think if I joined the Mexican Circus, and they made me take hormones to grow facial hair, you’d still love me? We’d both have beards, how cute would we be?
Pat: Matching beards, eh? I guess it’s better than matching Crocs. So, yeah, I’d still love you.
Me: But what if they made me wear Crocs too?
Pat: What are you talking about? Are you considering joining the circus?
Pat: Good. We need to talk about something serious now. Sit down.
Pat: We bought 2 packs of 6 Reese’s eggs 4 days ago and you ate 10.
Me: WOAH! That’s a lot of math. Are you just showing off for me again?
Pat: What I’m trying to say is, we had 12 eggs, and you ate 10.
Pat: That’s a lot. Plus, I only had two.
Me: Well, you should have written your name on them, although I don’t know what good that would have done, because when I want some peanut butter eggs, you better get the fuck out of my way, and your stupid name written on the wrapper won’t slow me down. Mmmm, I think I need a peanut butter egg right now.
Pat: See? It’s that kind of talk that makes me think you might have a problem.
Me: Seriously Pat, I can stop at anytime. I just choose not to. I have self control.
Pat: I think for the duration of this holiday season we should not buy anymore Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs.
Me: But Pat! That’s how I choose to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection! I don’t judge you for celebrating in prayer, so don’t judge me for celebrating with a sweet delicious treat.
Pat: Oh, my God, woman! You’re worse than I thought. You need help.
Me: No Pat, what I need is a EFFIN’ PEANUT BUTTER EGG!
Oh dear! Please hold me. I do have a problem.
And so, now I’m on the road to recovery. If you have a Reese’s Peanut Butter Egg, keep it to yourself, I’m far too weak and fragile right now to be tempted.