Like a kid in a candy store

As the leaves begin to turn brilliant shades of crimson and gold and the days get shorter and shorter, I realize that there is an occasion looming that threatens to destroy all the hard work I did this summer.

Yes, I'm talking about Halloween.

It's not so much the holiday itself. It's the candy.

I'm a sucker for those fun-size candy bars. Anything chocolate will do. Except the ones with coconut. I am not a fan of coconut. But I would lick the chocolate off if it were all I could get my hands on. Then the dog could have the coconut, and everybody would be happy.

Most of the time I don't keep candy in the house because I have no willpower. But in October, I have to buy Halloween candy to put in the plastic jack-o'-lantern bowl we drag out once a year for the little trick-or-treaters who come by. Sadly, that bag rarely makes it to its destination. Once the candy is in the house, it's like I'm suddenly overcome by some kind of candy-induced psychosis that compels me to eat the chocolate. Of course, it would be better if I got a psychosis that compelled me to clean the house, but I haven't come across that one yet.

The problem is, when I see the bags of candy at the store, I panic that they will run out before Halloween and then I'll have to give out raisins, and the kids will egg my house and toilet paper my cherry tree.

Truthfully, have you ever seen a store run out of candy? No. It doesn't happen. Something you actually need, like medication? Yes. But candy? Never. There is an endless supply of candy that comes from the candy factories where the great and powerful Chocolate Wizard makes sure there is enough candy for every child who wants it, and every parent who will steal it from their kids.

Regardless, I'm still convinced that there will be a run on fun-size candy bars, so I succumb and bring the candy home and that's when it all goes to hell in a handbasket. One minute I'm stashing the goods, and then, suddenly, I find myself standing over a bag of candy with a giant, gaping hole torn in it, pulling candy bars out like the chocolate apocalypse is upon us. I think, "Hmmm, one little piece of candy won't hurt. How many calories could this possibly have? Ten? Twenty? No big deal."

But then I realize I have eaten 20 pieces of candy in a chocolate blackout, and my diet has not merely been derailed, it has been decimated. Obliterated. Sent to that great Weight Watchers wasteland in the sky. After that, I think, "Well, the damage has already been done," and so I finish the bag.

I'm not a complete savage, though. All this candy eating will not take place in a day, but rather over the course of several weeks until finally, the inevitable happens.

"Honey, where's all the chocolate?" says my husband.

"What chocolate?" I say, feigning innocence, although I think there is a small chocolate stain on the front of my shirt.

"The Halloween chocolate," he says. "I want a piece."

"OK," I say and slip into the pantry.

"Great!" he says enthusiastically.

"Here," I finally say, holding out a bag. "We have the coconut ones."

Tracy Beckerman is the author of the Amazon Bestseller, "Barking at the Moon: A Story of Life, Love, and Kibble," available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble online! You can visit her at www.tracybeckerman.com