I love candy corn.  I mean… I LOVE candy corn.

Sure, I get sick of it…especially around November… because traditionally I mainline the stuff into my face from September to October. In November, the love affair wains, being replaced by another love: Christmas cookies.

I’m telling you that to tell you this- as of October 10, 2017 I have lost 40 lbs.  I’ve talked about this transformation previously.  It’s a whole new world, man.  I’m almost in the best shape I’ve ever been… better than I was in my 20s or my 30s.  That’s saying something.

But there’s candy corn.  My new way of thinking and relationship with food has tested this love.  I didn’t run out and get a fall colored bag the moment it was available. (I just found out THIS YEAR that candy corn wasn’t actually available year round… not through conventional means anyway).  I stay away from sugar now.  Candy corn is not only love… it’s a LOT of sugar.  A lot of sugar.

I ended up buying a bag.  And it was really hard to open… the bag was easy to open but getting me to open that bag was hard.  Would my opening that door ruin seven months of new food discipline?  Would I just inhale the whole bag once that first kinda softish, weird textured kernel hit my throat?

It took a me a full day before I could open it.  This is insane, right?

I opened it.  Counted out the recommended single serving (about 19 kernels), and proceeded to re-ignite my seasonal love affair.  Before, about 19 kernels would be a mouthful for me.  One single mouthful.  How would this end?

Eh. It was alright.  Took me a while to finish all 19.  Crazy.  All that build up.  I sealed the bag, put it in my squirrel cookie jar and went on with my life.

I’ll always love you candy corn… it’s not you, it’s me.  We can still be friends.