It's 3:25pm. Thus, I have just come back from my daily pilgrimage to the downtown Oakland Long's (now CVS, though I refuse to recognize its legitimacy). I go for two reasons: 1) That little splash of afternoon sunshine makes me feel a little less dead inside after going on 7 hours at my desk. 2) While I sometimes justify the pilgrimage because I need bodywash, deodorant, etc., I more often need a little bit of chocolate to get me through the next 1.75 hours.
Those misguided financial gurus who think you'll be a millionaire by thirty if you don't buy that daily latte would seriously judge me for this little habit. Sure, I probably lose a couple hundred dollars a year on Twizzlers, InStyle magazine, and generic brand ibuprofen gelcaps, but can you really put a price on sanity?
Anyhow, I started out with a point, and it was not my dysfunctional approach to finances. As I've settled into my 26th year, I've noticed the remarkable change in my metabolism. All those years of over-indulgence in fried chicken and cheesecake while scoffing at passing joggers are truly a thing of the past. A few months ago, I started doing the unthinkable: looking at food labels. What an eye-opening experience. How it is I haven't gone in for a triple bypass yet is beyond me.
Still not to my point. It is this: a standard package of plain M&M's contains 10 grams of fat. That is horse-hockey! Are you kidding me? There must be 1 gram of fat to every individual M&M. And they aren't even that good. Today, I rediscovered a far better classic: the York Peppermint Pattie. 2.5 grams of fat. Pure pepperminty heaven. Enough said.