I have a little secret I haven’t liked to admit to anyone, even myself, until recently. I have an addiction.

No, not to gambling, opioids, drugs or alcohol. I’m addicted to chocolate. Okay, really, to sweets.

You don’t know how it happens, but that bag of caramel M&Ms, Brookside Chocolates, or Oreo cookies parachutes into your shopping cart when you’re not looking. Bad enough that they stow away, they then sit in your pantry calling your name, like Josh Groban or Taylor Swift singing a personalized love song directly to you. Of course, their siren call is the loudest at the time of day when you’re most susceptible — which would be anytime — but especially after dinner when the calories can nestle all snug in your bed. Those visions of sugar plums aren’t just dancing in your head, they have the run of your body, creating bowls full of jelly wherever they darn well choose.

I actually managed to go cold turkey on sweets about five weeks before this year’s holiday season. Instead of listening to the call of Häagen-Dazs after dinner, I substituted a bowl of frozen cherries. It actually worked, without ever joining Chocoholics Anonymous.

Why, even at Thanksgiving when we had cheesecake, I had one small piece and didn’t crave more. I swore I had the problem licked, so to speak!

Then Santa pushed me off the wagon. That darn jolly old elf filled my stocking with all sorts of goodies, from chocolates to truffles. Thinking I was in control, I had one…which became six. Before I knew it, I was slicing off slabs of my daughter’s Ghirardelli brownies, and stockpiling Christmas cookies.

Now I know why he’s so jolly… he must have very lucrative contracts with all the confectionery companies across the globe!

So, I’m resigned to the fact that I’m starting over. Two weeks have elapsed since the New Year and my willpower hasn’t yet kicked in. It’ll probably take until Easter to break the spell again. Assuming I manage it by April, that Easter Bunny may just be met with a “No Trespassing” sign on my lawn.