The Twizzler Temptation: Candy Coated Stress Relief
Fiona liked to think of herself as someone with reasonable self-control. Sure, she’d had her run-ins with an open packet of Jammie Dodgers, but nothing too alarming—so long as she bought them in single packets, not the multi-saver. But then came the Twizzlers. Strawberry-flavoured, irresistibly chewy, straight-from-America Twizzlers.
It had started innocently enough, a supermarket discovery during her holiday. But then came the gifts from friends returning from the States, tucked into hand luggage like contraband. The 2lb bag was unpacked into the kitchen cupboard. Fiona wasn’t worried.
After all, an unopened bag was nothing to fear. As long as it stayed tucked away, out of sight, it couldn’t possibly pose a problem. It could live peacefully among the tinned soups and cereal boxes, forgotten until she decided it was time for a treat. The Twizzlers were safe there, sealed and silent, no threat to her self-control. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
But the thing about Twizzlers, Fiona would later reflect, is that once you know they are in the cupboard, they never quite stay out of mind for long…
By mid-morning, after surviving her third Zoom call and conquering half her inbox, Fiona decided it was time for a break. A coffee and a snack. She didn’t plan to reach for the Twizzlers. Really, she didn’t. But as she stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, her eyes drifted to that cupboard. The one where the unopened packet of Twizzlers lay patiently, like candy-coated therapy sticks.
“It’s just one,” she told herself. “A little chewy treat to go with my coffee. No harm in that…”
Twizzlers, she reasoned, were practically designed for stress relief. The repetitive chewing action alone felt oddly therapeutic, like biting through layers of pent-up frustration. Fiona chomped through the first stick so quickly it barely registered. And another. By the time she returned to her desk, she’d already had two and was working on a third.
The open packet now sat on the counter like an unspoken dare. She hadn’t closed it properly, and the slight opening seemed to whisper, "Just one more. Eat me!" Easy access to the snack cupboard had become one of the true joys (or pitfalls) of working from home.
Sure, she was snacking, but she was also getting steps in every time she walked from her desk to the kitchen and back. Surely that had to count toward her new ‘hourly uprising’ routine, right? Twizzlers: the unofficial fitness snack. None of the fitness gurus ever mentioned how many calories were burned pacing to the fridge though.
As the 2lb bag grew lighter, Fiona began to wonder if this was less of a routine and more of a caloric landslide. She tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, casually nudging the bag further back on the counter each time she grabbed another couple of sticks, as though out of sight would somehow mean out of mouth. Spoiler: it didn’t.
The truth was, Fiona had no idea how the Twizzlers disappeared so quickly. Were they dissolving into the atmosphere? Had they been vaporized? Surely, she couldn’t have consumed the entire bag by herself. But as she reached into the packet one last time, her fingers met with nothing but air. Empty. The bag was empty.
“Oh no,” she muttered, staring into the Twizzler abyss. She checked the calendar. Hadn’t it only been three days since the bag entered her house? Was this normal? Fiona suspected it was not. Her willpower, waistline, and weight loss plan had all lost this battle against the Twizzler temptation.
It was time to take drastic action. Twizzlers, despite their strawberry-flavoured charms, were clearly too dangerous to be allowed in the house. A ban was in order. Fiona would politely but firmly request that no one ever bring her Twizzlers again. “Thank you for thinking of me,” she wrote, “but please, no more. They’re too good to chew, and frankly, I can’t be trusted.”
