I have a problem.

That problem would be my sweet tooth.

It’s a serious issue. You could coat a piece of wood with sugar and I’d eat it and ask for more.

Enter Halloween.

My sweet tooth is happy. My blood sugar levels are bipolar. And my stomach is queasy.

You see, my sweet tooth has a once a year love affair with candy corn. It’s a terrible ordeal because it feels so right, but it’s oh-so-wrong.

I try to keep my sweet tooth both happy and in check, but this never bodes well for me. For example, the other week I bought a bag of candy corn and allowed myself a handful and then placed it in my glove compartment for "safe keeping."

It wasn’t safe. Nothing was safe. The other drivers on the road? They weren’t safe either. Especially since I spent each car ride with one hand on the wheel, leaning towards the passenger side with my other hand moving between the glove compartment and my mouth…all while my head was straining to peer over the dashboard.

I have a problem.

And recognizing that is the first step in recovery, right? So I took the next step and threw the remaining candy corn in the trash. For the safety of my fellow motorists, of course.

I felt in complete charge of my life and my decisions. I felt powerful.

Until my friend Shannon came into work complaining of the exact same problem—glove compartment and all. She was just about to throw out her bag of candy corn, too.

And I couldn’t let it happen. No, I couldn’t watch those little cornucopias of color and delight fall victim to the trash can. What a shame to watch them go to waste!

Um, back to square one.

I have a problem.