Breastudice

I need a support group for my kind. It would be like AA, except it would be called CA.

"Hello. I'm Natasha Ferrier, and I'm a candyholic."

We would even have name tags. Because name tags make people feel important. However, they can also cause a stir of redundancy.

"Hi! I'm Sam."

"I know, I read your name tag. I'm ---"

"Natasha. Yes, I saw it on your name tag."

See? What's the point of introducing yourself if a sticker on your chest is doing the exact same thing? It's like saying your name twice. Better yet, it's like saying your name over and over again, since you leave your name tag on throughout the day. You might even say it's like saying your name and stressing the syllables for hours on end. Like this:

"NATASHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA."

And during that prolonged period of saying your name, you are sporadically interrupting yourself with your speaking voice.

"NATASHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ---"

"I'm Natasha."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA---"

"Hi, I'm Natasha."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA---"

All day. Because it's on your name tag. Shoving yourself into people's eyes. Directing their eyes right to your pectorals. Which brings me to another point about name tags.

"So you're Natasha, right?"

"How'd you know my name?!"

"Well, it says it on your name tag."

"Oh, and by that you mean - it says it on my breast?"

"No! No! No. I just. Uh. What? No. It's just---"

"It's just - you were looking at my breast."

"Uh. No. I just. Well. You put your name tag right on it, where else was I ---"

"And not both, just one. Because if you had looked at the other one, you would not have known my name, would you? Because that one doesn't have a giant sticker smacked onto it. So you were only paying attention to one of my breasts."

"What! No! The point of a name tag is to have people read i---"

"Is one of my breasts better than the other one? Huh? You just met me, and already you have a breast preference?"

"NO. YOUR NAME TAG IS ---"

"Are you breastudice?"

"Excuse me?"

"Prejudice toward breasts?"

"No! You stuck a sticker right on it ---"

"Oh, so it's an "it" now, is it?"

"What are you talking about? This isn't about your breasts ---"

"WHAT did you say about my breasts?"

"Nothing! I didn't say anything about th---"

"You just said "your breasts." Did you not?"

"Well yeah, I did, but...uh...I meant...your...I just meant ---"

"PERVERT!"

Name tags are pointless. And there's really no acceptable place to put them. But like I said before, they do have a sense of importance, don't they?

So in CA, us candyholics gather and discuss what it's like to be addicted to candy. Gummy bears, gummy worms, gummy kids, sour gummy bears, giant gummy bears, chocolate-covered gummy bears, white-chocolate-covered gummy bears, gummy gums, chewing gum, bubble gum, gum drops, spice drops...

As you can imagine, the world of candy addiction is one quite large, and one quite difficult to overcome. You think drugs are bad? List all the drugs in the world. A lot, isn't it? A shit ton. Now list all the candy in the world.

IT'S NOT EVEN POSSIBLE. THERE'S JUST SO MUCH.

Same goes for alcohol. And porn. And ham sandwiches. Whatever the hell people are addicted to these days.

The problem with CA meetings is that, well, I'm the only adult there. Our meetings consist mainly of children, since the older we get, the less candy we tend to eat. Somehow I missed that step in maturing. That one, and the time that comes when little girls stop wearing hairbows. Yep, that train left me at the station.

Another problem with children being at the meeting is that, well, they're children. They're not 18 yet. So legally, they have to be accompanied by an adult. So they bring their parents. And their parents see me, an adult, without a kid, attending these sessions. And they start to wonder what a 21-year-old is doing at a CA meeting. And then they think I'm a pedophile. Because what better place would there be than a CA meeting to use the line:

"What some candy, little boy...?"

Exactly. So I go to these meetings to get HELP, and I'm interrogated by concerned parents. Ha! Parents being concerned for their child's safety...that's sooooo 90s.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes."

"I couldn't help but notice...you don't have a child with you."

"Nope!"

"So...what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to get help."

"But you're an adult..."

"How do you know that? I could be 7 years old. You don't know."

"Well, you're the only one whose name tag I can read..."

"Ah. Yes. Valid point there."

"So...you're addicted to candy."

"Yes. That's why I'm here."

"And how long have you been addicted?"

"Look, lady, have you been paying attention? I just explained all that. In fact, I explain all of that every week. If you ask me, I should be the one with the questions here."

"Alright, what's your question."

"One. Why are YOU here?"

"Because I have a child here."

"And you think your child is addicted to candy?"

"Yes."

"Which one is your child?"

"That one over there."

"Wow, that really narrows it down. Now I know exactly which one your kid is."

"The one in the purple shirt."

"Okay, then my next question is, why are you dressing your son in purple?"

"Excuse me?"

"That's a girl color."

"No it's not."

"It is when you're 11 years old."

"My husband wears purple."

"Yeah, and he married you, so his choices don't mean anything, obviously."

"How dare you!"

"How dare YOU! I have a serious problem here, and you come up acting like you own the place! AND, by the looks of your son, I'd say he's addicted to ALL foods - not just candy."

"You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"THAT'S IT, LADY! YOU'VE UPSET ME GREATLY. I HAVE NO CHOICE. I'M GOING TO GO BUY SOME LICORICE."

"No, Natasha! Just say no!"

This is the group leader chiming in.

"I'm sorry, Ms. *&^%$."

(It's Candyholics Anonymous, remember? Not Candyholics HeyLookAtMe.)

"Natasha, just count to ten ---"

"NO! I have been introduced to a problem, and instead of thinking of a way to fix it, instead of being strong, instead of choosing a safe and alternative method to cope, I MUST SELF-DESTRUCT!"

"Natasha, NO!"

"LICORICEEEEEE!"

"Natasha!"

"LicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicorice LicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicorice LicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicoriceLicorice."

"Natasha..."

"Red. Juicy. Long. Twizzlers. Cherry. Strawberry. Black. Don't care. Need it. Need licorice. Now."

"Natasha, please! There are other ways! Have a lemonade!"

"Lemonheads?"

"No! Have a soda!"

"Bottlecaps?"

"NO! Try something else! Have some chocolate milk!"

"Chocolate? Reese's? Snickers? Butterfinger?"

"She's gone."

"Milky Way? Hershey's Bar? M&Ms?"

"We've lost her."

"CANDYYYYYYYYY!"

Maybe I need some help. But first, I need a name tag. And a giant group of children who share my problem.