happy

Candy

candy

I really, really, really love candy. So much so that I had to quit a general store after one Halloween, when I was being particularly generous with myself, and the store manager got too judgey. So when my boyfriend ordered recurring candy deliveries to my apartment for my half birthday, it really hit my sweet spot.

Now, I think having done so makes him feel like he’s really providing for me. You know, being emotionally supportive to me even in his absence, as he feels personally responsible for each chocolated-induced endorphin.

In fact, when he sees receipts or wrappers or an empty chocolate bunny box sitting in my apartment, he’ll want to know where and when and why I got the candy. When he asks, I sense a tinge of disappointment, or maybe it’s worry, in his voice like the world is doubting his ability to provide for me, questioning his manhood, or challenging his worth. It’s not.

I have an insatiable sweet spot. My eye will never stop wandering.

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