Rite of Spring

Okay, it is not spring yet. But spring is thinking about happening. I know. I can tell.

It isn’t just that there are snowdrops blooming in our garden. Nor does the one brave purple crocus who is thinking of unfurling her petals tomorrow who tells me spring is just around the corner. It isn’t the singing of the wrens nor the mating calls of the crows which give my sign that spring is imminent.

No, it isn’t the calender, nor even the fact that it was sixty degrees and sunny out yesterday. (Yesterday. Today it was in the twenties, and snowing, and dismal. That is Ohio, for you.)

No, it is because the sacred purple bags are out on store shelves again.

The Cadbury Dairy Milk Mini-Eggs are available. They are out there, and Zak brought a bag of them home to me yesterday.

Yes, it is that time of year again. The Month of Mini-Eggs is at hand.

But what a bag! Supersizing has hit my favorite springtime treat. If you look closely at the picture you can see that the larger bag is a whopping 22 ounces–a bloody pound and a half of rich milk chocolate encased in crisp, vanilla scented sugar shells.

Can I say this?

OH MY GOD!

I think he is trying to kill me. Or, more likely, make me grow a bigger butt. I don’t think he ever got over the loss of my ass when I went down about three dress sizes a few years ago.

I mean, I was happy, but then I saw the size of the bag and was torn–what do I do?

Because you know what? I love those damned little crispy, creamy, rich, milky wonderful little nuggets of Eastertide goodness so much that I cannot open a bag of them without dire peril. They are addictive. I cannot just have three of them at a time–which is why I buy them in the more moderate, fifty-cent one and half ounce sized bags, pictured next to its gigantic cousin.

I swear, they put crack in the sugar coating. I cannot be -that- much of a jello-kneed weakling about the things, can I? I mean, I -do- have willpower, after a fashion. I mean, I did lose that weight, though mostly that came about because I quit drinking soda habitually. But still. I quit smoking cigarrettes years ago, cold turkey. I should be able to open a harmless bag of chocolates and have just one or three or seven or a handful or half the bag: you see what I mean.

He laughed at me. The bag stayed on the counter, unopened for twenty-four hours. This is a record in our house. He knows I wait all year for these things, so he came home from his doctor’s appointment and said, “I see you still haven’t opened my present. You don’t love me.”

“I do,” I pleaded, “But I don’t dare open them. If I do, I my doom awaits and I will die of chocolate inhalation.”

“Do you want me to open the bag, give you some and then hide the rest?” he asked helpfully.

“No!” I shook my head. “No–you don’t want to turn me into a junkie, do you? You don’t want me following you around, twitching and tugging at your sleeve all day begging for a fix, do you?” I folded my arms. “Or was that part of the plan?”

He told me I was paranoid.

I suddenly wished I was a devout Christian so I could give up Mini Eggs for Lent.

I told him I wasn’t opening the bag until Morganna comes to visit. She has the metabolism of a hummingbird, and can burn off every calorie in that bag with one good spate of dancing or a long run out in the woods. I could walk from here to Shanghai, (Well, they’d have to build me a good long bridge to do it, but you get the idea) and still not burn enough calories to justify eating even half of that bag. You could probably fuel an entire small village in India with the calories in there.

So, we went out to the grocery store this evening so I can pick up green beans. And while we were there, I saw a display of the tiny bags of Mini Eggs. A huge display. I pointed. “Why didn’t you get those?”

“I didn’t see them!” he said, dragging me to the Easter candy display aisle. “See, here’s the bag of Mini Eggs I got you.” They are at eye-level right as soon as the aisle starts. And then, we walk down the aisle, and he says, “See–Reeses, Hershey’s Kisses, Dove….do you see any other Mini Eggs? Any smaller bags? Because I looked, I did–I knew you would get neurotic over the huge bag. I knew it!”

At the end of the display, at the very end, there were two boxes of the tiny bags of Mini Eggs. I grabbed one and crowed triumphantly, “See! Here it is–a bag of a decent, reasonable size! A bag that I can open and eat every last one without feeling guilty or worry that every tooth will fall out or that my pancreas will crawl out of my body in despair! I’m buying it.”

I tossed it in the basket and we went to check out.

There were two folks bagging our stuff–a high-school aged girl and a boy, and our cashier was a boy of about the same age. When the little purple bag came down the conveyor, the girl’s eyes widened and she gasped. “Where did you find these?” she whispered. “Where?”

One of the boys says, “I told you there were little bags around here somewhere.”

The cashier shook his head and said, “I don’t see why you don’t buy the big bag. It is cheaper in the long run.”

She shook her head. “I -told- you I don’t dare, because if I open it, I will eat them -all-!”

Zak and I cracked up, and I started nodding. She looked at me and said, “You understand! It’s true–I keep telling them how good they are, but they don’t believe me. You can’t help yourself, can you?” She glanced around. “Where’d you find that little bag?”

“Come on,” I said, beckoning her back to the Easter aisle. “I’ll show you.”

I told her about Zak buying the big bag, and she shook her head. “That is just torture,” she said. “My boyfriend got me a huge bag for Valentine’s Day, but I haven’t opened them yet, and I won’t. Not until Saturday when I’m having about seven girlfriends come over for chick flicks. A pound and a half of chocolate between eight girls is a better way to go about things.”

I couldn’t agree more.

I told Zak as we were going home that I was going to write about the big and little bags of Mini Eggs this evening. He thought it was cool. “Who knows,” he said. “You may find more people in the world share your addiction to them.”

It could be.

So, here I am. The huge bag of chocolate is still set up on the windowsill where I perched it for the photograph. One of my cats is laying next to it. She helped me photograph it. I can smell the vanilla scent of the sugar shell still and the rich sweet chocolate from here.

The smaller bag?

I had to open it for the picture, so there were some eggs scattered around for visual interest.

I bet you can guess the fate of those eggs and their fellows.

Yep.

But, I am not touching that big bag.

Nope.

6 Comments

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1. You will open them. And eat them. You will.

   And I really did look up & down the aisle for a smaller bag. What Barbara neglected to mention was that I had gone out specifically to see if the supermarket had kamut, which was an option in a bread recipe that we are going to make. Well, I am mostly going to make it, since I’m learning to bake bread so we can have something other than eating & doing dishes in common in the kitchen.

   So I am already trying to make her happy. And she asked for chocolate ice cream, which I got her (Haagen Dazs.)

   On top of that, I decided to get the Cadbury eggs, because I know they are her favorite.

   So that’s not one, not two, but THREE ways I was trying to make my beloved happy.

   And what do I get?

   Complaints.

   I mean, usually, no guy in the world would be unhappy when his beloved exclaims, “That’s so huge!” But, apparently, it can be too big, and there I was, trying to bring Barbara seasonal joy, and instead making her pout. And complain.

   O, the humanity.

   Harumph.

   Comment by crazyquilt — February 16, 2005 #

2. Oh, listen to him.

   I am not complaining. I am telling a humorous anectdote.

   I think it is funny.

   I do indeed intend to eat them. When Morganna is here. And when we are moving–because helping to heft and tote big ole bunches of stuff will help burn some of the kilocalories contained in that gianormous purple bag.

   And, btw. I love my husband.

   Did I neglect to mention that? I love him, because he brings me chocolate.

   And he doesn’t complain when I gain weight from eating it.

   And because he is cute.

   And he plays pretty music.

   And other reasons.

   Comment by Barbara Fisher — February 16, 2005 #

3. ding0 bought one a 6-pack of Minute Maid lemonade in cans, hid them, and doled them out a can at a time over a few weeks. For some reason I was craving it, though it is never as good as I think it’ll taste.

   *sigh*

   I also want the Cadbury creme eggs of my youth – the runny ones.

   Comment by Amy — February 17, 2005 #

4. Myth adores the Cadbury mini-eggs, too. And even though my New Year’s Resolution was to eat chocolate every day, for some reason, I don’t care for the Cadbury mini eggs, or the Cadbury eggs with the sugary yolk centers. I’ll eat them, because I am a chocolate whore, but I don’t like them very much. That’s truly odd, since I like the rest of the Cadbury line of chocolates.

   I wish you the best in appreciating this bag of goodies your way!

   Comment by Noddy — February 17, 2005 #

5. Cadbury eggs are Spring for me too.

   Which is a good thing, since otherwise we don’t have Spring here in Canada until May.

   I like the gooey ones with yolks. In the old days when I had small children and we watched some tv, my then-small son was very taken with the ad which showed a rabbit making chicken noises and laying a Cadbury egg. He then (and we now) call them ‘the bawking eggs’.

   I only buy them one at a time.

   Comment by Judith — February 17, 2005 #

6. I cannot do the Cadbury Creme eggs. The fondant filling is so sweet that just take a taste and I can feel my pancreas trying to crawl out of my gullet and fling itself to the floor in despair.

   I don’t ever want to look down and see one of my organs, flopping and gasping, begging for mercy like a fish out of water. 😉

   Glad to know that Myth likes ’em, too.

   Amy–doesn’t it suck when you crave something and it is never as good as your mind tells you it is? That always makes me feel utterly cheated!

   Comment by Barbara Fisher — February 18, 2005 #

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