Ever since the official diagnosis of my physical disability, I feel as if I have been engaged in a huge wrestling match. A contest where I face a huge opponent, and I am seriously and woefully ill prepared, out-matched, and generally viewed as the under-dog's under-dog. And it is not like I can avoid this menacing adversary, because as luck sometimes will have it, I will be confronted two or three times a day, randomly, as I go about my own business. Whenever these chance meetings do happen though, I am forced to stop whatever I may be doing at the moment, and grapple for a while. The struggle may take two minutes, or it may take ten, but the point is that I am always engaged in the conflict. At this point, I cannot be sure that I am alone in this battle, but suspect that I am not, and so will call out my opponent so that you can possibly identify with me. He, or she, depending on how you look at it, and also accounting for individual tastes, is of course, the mini-candy bar. Or to be more precise, the wrapper that acts as a bullet and bomb-proof bunker, which hides and protects the sweetness within. I have been fighting in this war for awhile now, and although I haven't found the magic bullet yet, I continue the struggle.
I have found the mini candy bar to be an incredibly frustrating and deceptive creature. They lay in a bowl or sack with that perpetually innocent look about them. Always singing their seductive Siren's song as I walk by, as if to say, "Really, we mean you no harm". But therein lies the trouble, because if I fall for their wiles,(and let's face it, I do every time because I have a sweet tooth, am a sucker for chocolate, and they just look so inviting), then there will just be another chapter added to the story of the epic battle that has been fought so, so many times in the past. I suppose, though, that I should be looking for a positive in all of this. I would have to say that within the difficulty, and by engaging the struggle to free the candy from it's wrapper, I am able to burn beforehand some of the calories that lay within, patiently waiting to ambush the unsuspecting. These are the same calories that I will soon be giving permission to come aboard, and join the other fat cells that are already in storage and feeling quite at home. Once I am finally able, that is, to tear the wrapper open and claim the prize within.
And it is within those moments of triumph that I resemble the person who has been engaged in a long, grueling game of Capture The Flag. After planning and strategizing for hours, and having finally gotten their hands on their opponent's flag, they wave it around in excitement, and in a showing of complete victory.
I have finally captured and freed the chocolate goodness from the clutches of the wrapper! But then.....the disappointment sets in, and I realize that I've been had. That I have fallen for the same trick, again. You see, these miniature candies are sneaky and they know that if they can get me to eat just one, I will not be satisfied with the postage-stamp sized chocolate. They also know that I will spend the next ten minutes engaged in a skirmish to unwrap enough minis to get a decent mouthful. Sometimes I think that maybe I should just write to the makers of M&Ms and see if they would ship me a fifty pound feed bag. I'm just saying that it sounds like it might be easier. The least that they could do, it would seem to me, is make a handicapped-accessible wrapper.
No comments:
Post a Comment