I fell off the healthy-eating wagon so hard this weekend I think I broke my glutes.

The DH and I finally made it to The Taste of the Kingsway, a lovely street festival that happens the same weekend every year in our neighbourhood that we always seem to miss.

This year, we put it on the calendar. And, despite missing out on a fabulous Toronto Romance Writer's event, we stuck to our plans.

It was bright and sunny with that nice fall scent wafting through the air. Soon it was replaced by delectable taste sensations offered by the local restaurants at incredibly low prices. How could a girl resist? All that food might have something to do with the name of the event, but you never know...

Some fish 'n chips here, a cob of corn there, falafels? Sure, why not?

The whirling, screaming children had all the non-food fun with pint-sized rides; the lineup of parents at the ticket booth meant that a lot of them would be hanging out for a while. Soon we had trouble finding a shady spot to retreat to; the sidewalks and benches were filling up fast.

"Let's just do this last block," my husband suggested after he ate the last of the Tiny Tim apple/cinnamon donuts. "Look, that booth has a ballot box!"

My hero! At his height he was able to spot gift bags and ballot boxes from miles away. My right hand was beginning to cramp with all the ballots I was filling out.

Then we hit the fudge tent.

Oh no, it was more like a fudge caravan. Billowing sheets of dark fabric blocked the sun, helping to stop the mountains of smooth creamy yumminess from melting on the spot. Pound upon pound of fudge was fanned out in neat rows on a table within reach. I could feel my left eye twitch and prayed that the elderly man behind the counter didn't recognize me from the diabetes education group at our local pharmacy.

Hey, what was Ed doing there anyway?

Before I could cause a scene, the DH hip-checked me and picked up two pounds of fudge: Irish creme for him, regular chocolate for me. Because when it comes to fudge, I don't mess around.

Then I started "sampling" it.

Oh, you know the drill. Cut off a thin strip along the edge to make sure it's okay. Nibble off a bit at one corner to check the consistency. Make regular trips to the kitchen, at 3:00 in the morning, just to remind myself that I have plenty left for the next day, so a little taste can't hurt...

...unless you have a disease that requires you to balance what you eat with medication and exercise. And the last time I checked, walking down a flight of stairs to eat a big hunk of fudge adds up to nothing but trouble.

And I should totally know better. Seriously. But I fell victim to the fudge's charms. It's rich, sweet essence that lingers far longer than any teeny-weenie Halloween candy. Oh, but we won't go there...or else I'll be in some kind of diabetic rehab situation like a lo-cal LinLo.

But I've been paying the price. I feel like crap and I have the energy of a yam. Thank goodness Thanksgiving isn't right around the corner. ;)

No I'll just sip on this Diet Coke until the feeling passes...

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