Belly Ache

While in a checkout line at our local Hannaford, all our groceries had been unloaded out of the shopping cart and the male cashier was scanning them. I glanced over and saw a candy rack.

"Oooooooo, yum." I thought and grabbed a bag of plain M&Ms. I flipped the package over and looked at the nutritional information. It had 220 calories per serving. I could visualize my nutritionist slowly shaking her head in disappointment at my lack of willpower.

I sighed and put the M&Ms back.

"But maaaaan," I thought, "it really would be nice to eat some of those delicious babies."

I grabbed the bag again.

The front of the package said in bold print 'SHARING SIZE.' There were two servings in the bag. That would be 440 calories.

I thought, "Share?... Get fucking real. I'll scarf all of them down before we even make it home."

I put the M&Ms back.

I thought, "Jesus Christ, the nutritionist isn't my damn mother. I'm an adult. I can do what I fucking please. So what if I eat the M&Ms. It isn't the end of the world."

I grabbed the bag again.

I thought, "Four hundred and forty fucking calories. That's a big hit to my diet today for maybe ten minutes (if even that) of chocolate pleasure. I'm going to be pissed at myself for a lot longer than ten minutes. That's for damn sure."

I put the M&Ms back.

The cashier said, "That will be $146.08, please."

Now I'm upset at the clueless cashier for not finishing up our purchase when I had the M&M bag in my hand. That way I could've blamed him for me purchasing them. Instead, I walked out of the store without M&Ms. That insensitive cashier asshole.