Amass

Confession time: While the rest of the country was scrambling to make sure they had enough two-ply toilet tissue to last them through the apocalypse, I was making sure that the supply line that kept me in peanut M&Ms remained intact. I was ordering them on Amazon, two thirty-two ounce bags at a time, delivered to my door in what seemed like a very reasonable and responsible two days. Let me save you the time on the math there: Four pounds of candy covered chocolate peanuts that I would work my way through over the course of days or weeks, depending on the amount of time I have to sit in front of my computer, working, watching, chatting or playing Civilization. The Stay-At-Home order has had the effect of ramping up that dependence, but I am trying to remain vigilant. Portion control is not something that comes naturally to me.
But there was a time, a lifetime ago, when I was extraordinarily good at stockpile maintenance. Having two brothers with similar appetites to my own informed my hoarding principles. Initial forays into this mindset were brought on by raids of the family cookie jar. Having a centrally located distribution point located in the kitchen made getting more than our codified "two cookies of the day" difficult. But not impossible. Ninja skills were necessary in order to get the lid of the ceramic container off without making a sound, pawing the fistful of cookies with one hand while delicately replacing the lid and padding back to the bedroom or basement. Many was the evening, before dinner, when I was sent by my older brother on such a mission, and I was generally rewarded with an extra chocolate chip or Oreo for my efforts.
Then came the great Bubble Yum embargo. When those cubes of soft, sugary gum first became available, I would ride with a group of neighborhood kids on our bikes down to the nearest 7-11. There we would proceed to buy as many of those red packs as our allowances would afford. It started out when, instead of just getting the one pack of five, one of the kids figured he could save himself a trip the following day by purchasing two. Things escalated quickly, and ultimately we were taking extra trips by ourselves to see when the rack had been restocked, and even expanding our search radius to include 7-11s that were not so close by. Eventually buying unopened cases of what had been a treat just weeks before was the response. My younger brother and I took turns bringing back far more bubble gum than we could ever chew ourselves back to our rooms, hiding our booty under our beds. And while we never succumbed to the depths of creating our own black market, we were cautious about to whom we would share our reserves. Ultimately, the neighborhood's boss reacted by shifting focus away from Bubble Yum to Starburst.
So there we were, sleeping just above a vast storehouse of ever-hardening bubble gum that no one really wanted anymore.
And that's why I am happy to keep my peanut M&M cache a secret. Just between me and you, right?