sour puss

There is a candy jar on my desk at the office. I never quite fill it to the top because I have little to no discipline when it comes to sweets planted in front of me, but there are other reasons too.

I don't like to share. Is that bad? I should qualify: I don't like to share my candy. MY candy. Mine. I will share and often find myself encouraging people to take some but, really, I would rather not if given a choice.

For one, I don't believe in the communal bowl. I don't want people molesting my sugary bliss with their flu-season-poor-bathroom-washing-habits-money-exchanging hands. [shudder] That's what the spoon is for, people! Second, the more they eat, the less I sweet. And I need it.

Daily stress on the job can be moderated by a little shot of sugar. Hell, even the non-stressful days are a more fun with a treat. It may only be temporary but I don't care. I eat well, otherwise. I'm not a fast-food junkie (save for this week's party mix fiasco) and I exercise moderately. Put a pack of dark chocolate or gummy somethings in my hand, and I'm skipping down the street like a kid again. Nerd. I know.

But back to my selfishness. People have been helping themselves to my candy more frequently these past few weeks.

I suppose it's nice that it makes other people happy too but, you know... So this week, I put in sour cherry balls. Love these. Love. Love. Love.


The other sweet teeth in the office aren't too pleased with my latest choice and have already aired their grievances. Truthfully, I chose these sours because I knew it would put them off, but my boss (go figure) is a big fan.

So while I've successfully managed to keep the mass consumers at bay, I've now drawn the attention of the actual hand that feeds me... What to do?