Tag Archives: Target

Sweet surrender

I’ve hit bottom.

I started with a pack a day, which turned into two packs a day. Within weeks, I was inhaling up to four or five. For so recent an addiction, this one has taken hold with quite a grip. Today I did something of which I am not proud.

It started last October, about a month after I had given up alcohol, coffee and chocolate. At Halloween, when there were pounds of candy in the house, I turned away from chocolate and turned on to SweeTarts–and the powder form, Pixy Stix. We had such a large supply that I was able to make it last until Christmas, when I became distracted by other forms of sugar. The loneliness of January turned to the darkness of February and I missed my old pastel-hued habit. For Valentine’s Day I asked my husband to substitute my traditional box of chocolates with SweeTarts. He gave me a big bag of individually packaged heart-shaped ‘Tarts, five to eight to a pack. When they ran out about three weeks ago, I got the shakes.

It turns out that no grocery or drug store in my area carries them. The ones my husband found were available for a limited time for the holiday. I started making special trips out to find them and with each failure to score came worsening withdrawal. A friend gave me a tip that they’re available at the movies, which was going to be my next tactic.

This afternoon I went to the mall to drop off some watches for repair. The clerk said the repairs would take 20 minutes. My first thought was to check to see if Target stocked my substance. Sure enough, my newly expanded Target had two boxes. I grabbed both of them and resisted opening one while I waited in the checkout line.

I had 15 minutes left to kill. Ordinarily at the mall, I’m tempted to try on clothes or shoes or costume jewelry. Those didn’t interest me one iota. All I wanted was to break into the SweeTarts.

I found a bench where I pretended to check my e-mail. I pulled out a box and began to tear at the corner. I imagined what I would look like, a desperate 51-year-old woman, sitting alone on a bench at the mall on a Saturday afternoon eating Willy Wonka SweeTarts. Sheepishly, I placed the unopened box back in the bag. I picked up my watches from the repair store.

Slowly, I walked to my car. My pace quickened. I ran the rest of the way, got in the car, ripped open a box and devoured half of it. That’s more than five servings. I was fulfilled.

I know I have an addiction. I’d like to break it, truly I would. Dr. Andrew Weil, whom I follow on Twitter, just within the last day or two, tweeted advice about breaking the sugar addiction. I had considered that divine intervention and pledged to myself to confront it like an adult. But today I caved.

The remaining SweeTarts are now in a covered candy dish in the dining room, with the spare box tucked away in a drawer. I’ll try to make them last, maybe I’ll even have the courage to give the spare box to a deserving child. Maybe I’ll overcome the habit and get to where I no longer feel like a herion addict without them. Or will I just be back on the street the next day, trying to score Pixy Stix?


Filed under Foibles and Faux Pas, Food, Health, Holidays

Red Carpet Barn

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever achieve such fame as to be asked, “Who are you wearing?”

This piece is not about who versus whom and surprise, I’m not even going to take issue (today anyway) with the grammatical incorrectness of the red carpet question:  Who are you wearing?

Normally I am working in my home office with no one to notice me but two tuxedo cats. On these days, trust me, no one would want to know who I’m wearing. Okay, whom.

When  I suit up for clients, I do wear brand name or designer business clothing, along with respectable accessories, which I own and aren’t on loan from Harry Winston.

But today, for example?  I’m wearing a lovely pair of workout pants designed by Merona. Tomorrow I might be sitting here in something designed uniquely for me (and two million other bargain shoppers) by St. John’s Bay. No, sadly, not St. John’s Knit. St. John’s Bay. Or perhaps something from the Jaclyn Smith collection.

If you recognize these brands, then now you know the raw truth about where I shop, and why Joan Rivers or Maria Menounos won’t be stopping me anytime soon to ask me about, well, anything.

The primetime Emmys are coming up later in the month. It’s fun to see all the designer dresses and jewelry and imagine this year I am walking the red carpet right alongside John Krasinski or Jim Parsons. I hope that one day, maybe at the International Syntax Awards, a reporter will ask me, “Ms. Nymph, whom are you wearing?”

I fantasize that someday my husband and I will be rich and famous. We will be getting ready for the limo to pick us up for the premiere or awards ceremony. He’ll emerge from the bedroom, dressed for the event, I will look at him as a wife looks at her husband and ask, “is that who you’re wearing?”


Filed under All Things Wordish, Beauty and Fashion, Movies, Television and Radio