Those little green-vested sirens set up every year outside the grocery store I work in. For a month and a half, every time I go in to work or on break, I have to see them peddling their addictive wares to all and sundry. After I cover my ears and negotiate through their bedeviled gauntlet, I have to see my customers carrying bags and bags of cookies around the store while they shop. Worst of all, I’m on Atkins. I haven’t had any cravings for anything since I started, but the soothing purple boxes of Samoas beckon me constantly to break my diet. I am counting the days, waiting for those little enablers and their parents to break camp and get the hell out.
I need a Samoa, but I won’t. Dammit, I won’t.