You know you shouldn't buy it.
You know you don't need it.
Yet, you must have it.
End of story.
Yesterday was one of those days at the Faribault farmers market.
My mission was clear:
I needed eggs, carrots, and potatoes. Of course, there were other items as well, but those three were a must.
The good news is that I didn't fall short in my mission.
The bad news was that I loaded myself up with yummy, yummy, unhealthy goodies that I didn't really need, so I ended up with fewer fruits and vegetables than normal.
So what did I get?
A huge bag of potatoes
A billion vibrant carrots
4 short, fat cucumbers
3 large apples
1 mini pumpkin
1 loaf of chocolate zucchini bread,
1 plate full of caramel zucchini bars,
1 jar of cinnamon pickles.
Let me say that again, in case you missed it.
One jar of
That was what started my "sweet stuff craze". Had I not seen these pickles, I would have been perfectly content to buy only what I needed.
But, well, they're cinnamon pickles.
What in the heck are those?!
Naturally, having no sense of social etiquette, I asked exactly that, and rather loudly. Her response to speak those magical words of doom. The words nobody seems to have the ability to resist, no matter how hard they try:
"Want to try a sample?"
I felt the magical words wrap around me, clouding all reason and self control. I was afraid, to be honest, because I don't like sweet pickles. At all. They actually kind of make me want to gag. I'm a dill pickle girl, through and through.
But it was a free sample...
I sniffed the small piece I was given. It smelled... good. I took a tiny, miniscule bite of it. Just enough to get a sense of the taste.
Then I devoured the entire thing.
That itty bitty piece of red pickle was heaven on a toothpick. No, really. It was good.
more more more!!!
And that's what started it. Soon I was paying more attention to the sweet breads and candies than to anything else.
All because of a single piece of those cinnamon pickles!
My self control was gone, as though I never had any to begin with.
Even now, I continually glance toward the cupboard in which I placed my cinnamon treasure, longing to grab them and run into a dark closet so that I can eat them all without being discovered. Discovery, after all, would mean sharing.
Now, we can't have any of that, can we???
So, take my advice:
Beware the dangers of cinnamon pickles...
Or at least be sure you have a comfortable hidey-hole so that you don't have to share them!