Beep, beep. One pack of peach Hi-Chew slides neatly into my bag.
I resist for a day, believing that this somehow proves something about me—that I'm strong, that I'm in control. But the truth comes out on day two, because day two is the day that I will "eat just one."
The first chomp has the same resistance as a fresh piece of Hubba Bubba, but smoother and milky and luxurious. The intensity of the flavor burst is hard to believe. It rolls around on my taste buds, lingering for several minutes. There's no expected bad aftertaste, the peach just slowly fades. I can't stand the thought of the flavor frolic ending. Just one more won't hurt. Before I can rebut, one more Hi-Chew meets its fate.
It's downhill from there. When the flavor fade starts, I pop another, then another, until I'm popping them almost before I swallow the last one in a frenzy that lasts less than 10 minutes.
Inevitably my mouth has that furry sugar coating with the special bonus of a pre-canker sore feel. Somehow, as with all chewy candy, the Hi-Chews glom together in my stomach, making an uncomfortable ball of digestion issues. I berate myself in the aftermath. Stupid idiot. Why did I eat them all? Don't I have any self-control?
And that's why I don't buy Hi-Chew: It's a low self-esteem candy.