I stare at the baglet of chocolate-covered caramels for a full minute, mentally multiplying the calories per serving by the number of servings in the tiny package. I valiantly ignore the thought in the back of my brain that this is …what's that word they use when you plan to murder someone in cold blood? Oh, yes. Premeditated. Premeditated bingeing. I pretend I am merely curious about the total number of evil calories packed into these innocent spheres of sugar and cocoa. Before I've even given myself permission, I rip open the bag, flop onto my bed with a magazine and stuff candy after sweet, gooey candy into my mouth until the bag is gone.
The irony of gorging myself on a bag of caramels emblazoned with the Weight Watchers® logo does not dawn on me until much, much later.
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