Sunday was errand day. Every day feels like errand day, when you’re moving, but Sunday is the big one. I drive to the big box store part of town to pick up all the things I will need in my new home: dish soap, hand soap, cleaning products and laundry detergent. My shower curtain has to be replaced, so I grab something white to brighten up my new-to-me bathroom with the dark tile floors. Into the basket it goes, along with a new plastic liner. I forgot my shopping list at home, which feels like the biggest mistake I could make on a day like this. But I know I wrote down that I also need aluminum foil, so I grab a roll of that too.
As I walk toward the numbered rows of blue cash registers, I pass the seasonal goods. Easter is coming. There is a lot of chocolate on the shelves. Chocolate definitely wasn’t on my list, but I gravitate towards it anyway. My eyes scan dozens of products and eventually settle on the Cadbury section. Creme Eggs and Mini Eggs are dangerous substances, in my world. I can’t help but notice that buying four Creme Eggs is cheaper than buying two. I could eat four Creme Eggs right now, I think. Oh, but the big bag of Mini Eggs looks even better. I nearly salivate at the thought of smelling the sweet vanilla scent that releases from the bag when you open it.
I spend the next three minutes running numbers and making justifications for why I should buy one of these two items. It’s not surprising that the more you buy, the better the deal is. But I know I don’t need a 2 lb. bag of Mini Eggs any more than I need the four Creme Eggs. Still, I imagine buying one, opening it in the car and stuffing my face full, then feeling the temporary high that comes with giving into a craving. The sugar would hit my bloodstream and, with a few beats of the heart, run through my entire body. I realize my eyes are closed, as I’ve been visualizing the experience. When I open them, I see the bag of Mini Eggs is in my hand. I return it to its place on the shelf and walk away.