Some women chart their cycles with desk calendars, red pens, Palm Pilots, computer alarms, birth control pills...
I use sugar.
Like a squirrel in autumn knows when to collect her nuts, my hormones cue a monthly forage for junk -- the good, the bad, the 35-cent val-u-bag at CVS -- to be socked away in anticipation of my cravings. Trail mix, M&Ms, circus peanuts, candy corn, candy cane, candy apple, candy bar... Be it a seasonal offering or a staff meeting leftover, if it's laying around the office the week before my period it will find its way to the secret tupperware in my top desk drawer, always with a promise to savor it bit by bit. But my good intentions inevitably slide down that slippery chocolate slope, leaving me with aching teeth, bloated tummy, and a very guilty conscience.
Today I filled a baggie with a raisin/peanut/M&M mix and sealed it away in my hiding place. "I'll just have a bite this afternoon," I told myself. "The rest will last me through the week."
It was gone in 15 minutes. All of it, plus a candy corn chaser. An hour later, the sour aftertaste of processed sugar lingering on my tongue, I feel polluted. Polluted and ashamed. I wish I cou-
Hey, do I smell kettle corn?