When I was little, my brother and I called any sort of after dinner treat “something candy.” And being that I was the youngest – and the bold one of the two of us – my brother would always send me to ask my mom if we could have “something candy.”

SIDENOTE: He would also strategically position kitchen chairs and then prompt me to climb onto them, onto the kitchen counter, and into the cupboards to reach for sweets and other treats on the top shelves.

What I’m about to say may or may not be connected to that story (okay, it definitely is), and it may reveal something totally abnormal about me, but I think it’s funny and weird, so I totally don’t care.

I equate this:


with happiness.

But wait. Before you’re like, “Ooh, shocker – chubby girl loves candy,” let me explain.

It’s not even about eating it.

I mean sure, when I was a kid, I wanted to eat ALL THE CANDY ALL THE TIME, but even now, as an adult, I love candy. I just love it. Hell, I’m a gluten-free vegan, I don’t even eat 95% of the candy that exists in the world. I just like it.

Does that make any sense?

Since I can remember, I’ve had candy dreams.

SIDENOTE: Can’t believe I’m talking about this in a public forum. You’re welcome, Future Andrea!

In these candy dreams, I’m basically just surrounded by candy, or I’m at a candy store, and I’m usually selecting the candy I want. Filling a giant bag with a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Everything is so bright and colourful and cheerful, and everything looks delicious. It’s rare that I ever even dream-eat it. It’s just there. It just is.

Like this.
Like this.

You know how in Amélie, she likes to sink her hands into bags of grain? That’s how I am with candy*.

SIDENOTE: And also…

Kindred spirits.
Kindred spirits.

I just like being around it. I love the colours. Bright colours make me happy. Put me in a boutique store of any kind that is filled with bright colours and my eyes glaze over with joy. It’s euphoric. (No, I am not high right now.)

When I was a kid, my family and I would go to Pizza Hut and I would go to the little ice cream sundae buffet and take a bit of ice cream and A LOT OF SPRINKLES. This gained me the nickname Sprinkles and/or Spinkle as a teen**. Today my iPhone case is sprinkles.


My office mate at my new job revealed to me on my first day of work that as his new office buddy, I now have exclusive access to The Candy Drawer. Yes, you heard right. A full drawer of candy in his desk. Chocolate, Jolly Ranchers, ju jubes, you name it. I almost never touch it, but I love that it’s there. It’s amazing, like a tiny little piece of heaven just a few feet away from me at all times. I knew then we’d get along juuuuust fine.

Guys, I don’t even care what twisted thing is wrong with me, what psychological void I fill with my love of candy. I had a candy dream last week and I woke up smiling. They’re just so damn pretty.

Lesson learned: Everyone’s got a “thing.” In fact, most people have many. Candy’s my “thing.” Deal with it.***


P.S. If you’re out there reading this and you’re like, “OMG! ME TOO!” then I think we should talk, because I want to meet you and figure out what’s wrong with you because maybe it’s the same thing.

P.P.S. I am NOT a candy fetishist. This is not a sexual thing. So don’t even go there, and please don’t tell me if candy turns you on. Because I don’t wanna know. (No judgement.) (Perv.)

*In my dreams, because otherwise ew, unsanitary.

**What up, Meredith? x

***Since this is only post #65 of 365, you can expect I’ll reveal more of my “things” in the future.****

****Don’t giggle at “thing.” Perv.