An administrative intervention: Code-name: Candy crackdown

Why would I think that nine-year-olds are capable of following step-by-step sequential directions when I, myself, have proven, time and time again, that I am unable to successfully complete the complicated multi-step instructions involved in producing a tasty Toaster Strudel? I have no one to blame but myself but I insisted on blaming the children. At the height of complete madness, I stood in the middle of my classroom observing my carefully-planned trio of science centers go to wreck and ruin, stopping to scream, "I'll be right back," before storming across the hallway to throw myself repeatedly at the Pepsi machine. Grasping my temporary pacifier, I waded back into the land of scientific self-discovery to count down the minutes to lunch.

Sensing that the sanity of one of his teachers was in peril, my administrator visited, immediately spotting the two candy bars within easy reach. "A two-Snicker-bar-day, Mrs. Mosiman," he asked in a calm, soothing voice, edging closer to my desk. I snarled. "Mrs. Mosiman," he said slowly, "put...down ...the ...Snicker...bar." He made a lunge and managed to grab one out of my grasp. "There is no problem so great or any situation so stressful that it warrants your polluting yourself with preservatives." I watched, mortified as he attempted to give my candy bar away to another teacher walking down the hallway. To my relief, she mercifully declined his generous offer. To my horror, she later returned to retrieve it when her own day imploded. There is no problem so great or any situation so stressful that it can't be made slightly better by a Snickers bar. Or two. As the school day drew to a close, my principal popped in to check my progress. He didn't say much as he watched me double-fist two fun-sized Mounds bars. I explained the nutritional benefits of dark chocolate and coconut. I half-heartedly offered him one and, to save me from myself, he accepted. Talk about taking one for the team.