A confession.

I have a confession to make.

My name is Nicole (K) Smith and I'm an addict.

There's something about the gummy combination of glucose-fructose syrup, wheat flour, sugar, dextrose, tocopherol-rich extract, ascorbic acid, citric acid, strawberry concentrate, blackcurrant juice, apple, tomato, radish and pumpkin concentrates and beeswax that just makes my heart go boop... boop... bo-bleh! What the hell was th- boop...

I'm talking about strawberry laces.



Just looking at that picture is making my mouth water. Mostly because, even as I type this, I have a mouthful of strawberry laces.

Laces, whips, ropes, pencils. So long as they're strawberry flavoured (or at least can do a passable impression of strawberry) I'll jump on them.

At school, I walk around with a strawberry whip wrapped around my wrist so I can keep chewing at it. Anyone who spends a little amount of time with my during my free periods will complain that I always have a packet of strawberry SOMETHING in my gorgeous leather shoulder bag.

I'm pretty sure I'm alone in the world with this addiction. It's not like any of my others, which include shuffling cards endlessly and taking cold medication when I'm due an exam (they're hardly performance-enhancing, but my brain has a habit of evacuating through my nose when I sit exams).

And drinking chocolate milkshake really fast when I forgot to eat.

And reading all night just to get the damn book finished before dawn.

And opening and playing games of Spider Solitaire on my laptop without realising I've done so until the congratulatory 'Ta-daa!' sounds.

I have a lot of problems.