29 Oct Why You Should Never Steal from Your Children
This is one of those blisteringly shameful blogposts where you must promise never to refer to it if you ever see me in person somewhere. Please and thank you. I share it because it can hopefully impress upon you the importance of never stealing from your children. And because confession is good for the soul.
A while back, the Hot Man went to American Samoa for a work project. He returned with various treats for everyone, including a two pound bag of mini Reeses Pieces chocolate. These were a special request from Big Son who adores Reeses. The plan was, that I would take the bag of chocolates to New Zealand and give them to Big Son on my next trip over. The Hot Man stored the chocolates in the fridge with strict instructions:
THOU SHALT NOT EAT MY SON’S CHOCOLATES. UPON PAIN OF DEATH, DESTRUCTION AND DISMEMBERMENT.
I had no problems leaving the Reeses Pieces alone. For the first week and then the second. But my trip to New Zealand got delayed and the Reeses had to live in my fridge for a bit longer. Which is when things started to get a little tricky. Because those candies were evil.
“Laaaaaannnniiiii…”they crooned seductively every time I opened the fridge. And they were sly about it too. Did they tempt me in the middle of the day when stores were open and I could logically, easily go buy my own chocolate? No.
They only raised their tantalizing voices at night, the later the better. Like when everyone had gone to bed and it was just me doing very important work surfing the internet. When, in true Samoan-style, every shop was shut.
It was a tough struggle, but I resisted for weeks and weeks and weeks on end. (Okay, maybe four or five weeks. A minor detail. Hardly worth mentioning.) I even showed off about my self-control on Facebook, triumphant about the depths of my love and devotion to my son, ‘See! This is how much I love you. A whole two pound bag of Reeses worth!’
Then I cracked. It was 1am. I was in bed reading a very good book and I was hungry. I only wanted ONE. Or TWO. Or maybe a handful of candy. I very carefully cut a hole in the bag, took out some Reeses Pieces and went back to bed where I consumed them very quietly in the dimly lit room – so as not to wake up the original owner of the Reeses. Then I crept back to the kitchen and got a few more Reeses. And then maybe a few more. It was a bit difficult to keep track of the exact number because it was late. And dark. And I was trying to unwrap them without making a sound. There was one perilous moment when the Hot Man stirred as if he were about to wake up and I had to scramble and hide candy wrappers down the side of the mattress…
When I was done, I taped the hole back up and returned the chocolate to the fridge. Exultant. Ha! See? Nobody got hurt, nobody would miss out either because there were TONS of chocolates in that damn bag and Big Son surely didn’t need THAT many in the first place. Besides, I gave that boy life. He could give me a ton truck of Reeses Chocolates every day and still owe me big-time. Right?
Life proceeded as usual. I didn’t even think about the forbidden fruit in the fridge at all.
Until a few days later.
Walking through my room, I caught a whiff of a most horrendous odour. It wasn’t an overpowering smell, just a hint of one every time I walked past my side of the bed. Perhaps emanating from the bedside table? I looked inside all the drawers and under the bed. Nothing. So I carried on with life as usual.
This continued for several days. Every now and then, I would catch a nasty whisper of a lingering smell in my room, but couldn’t find the source and when I got the Demons to sniff it out, they would be impatient with me because they couldn’t smell anything. I even woke up in the middle of the night dreaming about rotten corpses out to get me…
Finally I appealed to the Hot Man to use his muscles and lift up the mattress. (It’s gigantic and weighs a ton).
There, squished between the mattress and the base, (underneath my pillow ewww!), were several squished pieces of Reeses chocolate and discarded wrappers. And squished beside them was a very big, once-very-fat but now very squished – Lizard.
A rotting, decaying, disgusting SMELLY lizard. Attracted by the roving Reeses Pieces, the nasty creature must have squirreled its way under the bed and then died a miserable squished death.
“It’s chocolate!” said the Hot Man. Trust him to get distracted by the unimportant things in life. And underneath mattresses.
“No, it’s a dead lizard,” I said, very loudly and disgustedly.
I cleaned the mess with lots of disinfectant and lots of YUCK faces. But I could still smell it. So I sprayed with lots more disinfectant and then some air freshener. Which helped.
The Hot Man was unimpressed with my weakness in the face of Reeses’ temptation. “I bought those for my son,” he grumbled. “I can’t believe you opened that bag.”
“I only ate a few,” I said. “I know the boy would want to share those Reeses with his beloved mother. I gave him life you know.”
The Hot Man gave up in disgust. And I wished I could eat another Reeses because its rather traumatic to find that one has been sleeping on a lizard corpse, and peanut-butter with chocolate can help get you through difficult times.
The Reeses are stowed away in the very back of the freezer, awaiting Big Son’s return. I have learned my lesson and am resolved never to eat chocolate after midnight in my bed again, especially when that chocolate doesn’t belong to me.
But even now, every now and again, I keep thinking I can smell rotten lizard. These are the wages of sin – dead lizards haunting your nostrils and your dreams.
Learn from the error of my ways blog readers – Don’t steal from your children.