The Lure

There is sits. It is shiny and blackish brown. The ends are twizzled gold. There is green and beige, rippled creams and browns. There are friends that are curled up beside it. Some are dressed in identical fashions. Others are more gaudy in their pinks and green disco style coverings. It is a spectacular fantasia of glimmery, shimmering wrappers. They sit there, in demure silence. Waiting and watching you to see how long it will take you to reach for their outstretched arms. They wait open and hospitable.

After days and hours of not over indulging in the glamour offered by the shiny stuff, I have stuck to ordinary. Until tonight. Tonight was the night that Christmas usually is. That night that I reached for the one and curled my fingers into the gold. I danced with it untwizzling and rippling the fabric back and forth. There it was. Melting into my hands. I tasted it. And it melted. So I moved on to the friends in the box.

Now I am saddened. I have no more friends left in the box. They have all sparkled for the last time. The box is pale and empty, just waiting to be refilled. The taste lingers and the sense of over indulgence is supreme. I am not feeling guilty yet, just smug satisfaction with a hint of wry amusement. I have been undone. I just hope that the scales forgive me in the morning!