It was Monday afternoon. My work day was barely on the brink of completion and I was hungry. My sweet treat partner in crime was also hungry. Unfortunately, there were no vending machines within a lazy girl's walking distance to speak off.
"I'll go t'shop," I volunteered and then spent the next thirty seconds wondering when I had turned into an extra from Emmerdale.
I searched thoroughly in my bag for my purse. As I dug deeper, the tiny cold feeling of dread in my heart hugely extended its reach.
I was pretty certain I had purposefully left my purse at home to stop this sort of behaviour. It usually manifested itself in the form of me lingering outside a corner shop, pretending I had a semblance of self control before persuading myself that it was okay - I only wanted one.
And then I would leave the shop, treasure enclosed tightly in my head, mouth already full of whatever flaky, crunchy delicious goodness I'd picked that day.
However, at the beginning of the week, I don't allow myself this luxury, especially knowing that I'm more likely to need this rush made up primary of simple sugars and pure endorphins later on in the week. I'm not against sweet treats. In fact, I enjoy them very much. But I'm not for me buying them on the regular when I can make something equally as satisfying in my own house for a far more economical price. Over the weeks, the price adds up and at the moment, I can't justify it.
So I make sure I leave my purse at home.
Even as I dig fruitlessly through my coat pockets cursing my practicality that morning, there was a part of me that was secretly impressed with myself. I hadn't budged an inch and left myself a security pound for emergency munchies like I normally would. All I managed to find was a less than useless 5p coin.
Despite how practical it was/is, I think I'll take some banana bread or some other home sweet treat in with me - those not-quite-hometime munchies were pure torture.