The Eggs Went Back in the Packet
The wife left a packet of Easter eggs out for Halloween trick-or-treaters. I ate three, realised I wasn't actually enjoying them, and quietly put the rest back.
The house is full of Halloween treats. The wife picked up a packet of chocolate eggs at work, of all things, on offer, and left them out for the kids who come knocking.
I succumbed. One, then two, then three.
Then I stopped, because I realised I wasn’t actually enjoying them. Not that I’d run out, not that anyone was watching, not some rule I was obeying. The eggs just weren’t giving me anything worth carrying on for, so I didn’t carry on.
That evening, once the wife had gone to bed, I quietly put the rest of my packet back into hers.
No drama about it, no binning them in some grand gesture to prove a point. Just moving the temptation out of arm’s reach, the same way I’d have done before any of this started.
I’ll admit there was a small, petty satisfaction in exactly where they went back. Not the bin. Her packet. She’s the one who brought chocolate eggs into a household she knew full well I’d be navigating around — I’m allowed a bit of quiet payback for that.
The win isn’t that I only had three. It’s that I noticed the enjoyment had stopped and let that be the reason to stop, rather than any sort of rule. There’s a house full of treats sitting here for Halloween, and apparently that doesn’t automatically mean I have to eat them.
I suspect the rest of the week will offer a few more chances to test that theory.