Have you ever been guilty of food theft? I have, several times. I feel compelled to confess.
The earliest incident I can recall was when I was about seven years old. My parents owned a newsagency at the time, and sometimes I liked the job of refilling the confectionary (of course I did). The boxes of lollies and chocolates were kept underneath the counter. On the night of the incident it must have been late and near closing time, because I remember my Dad was running the vacuum over the floor at the back of the shop, and was the only other person around. Thus, presented to me was an opportunity for The Perfect Crime.

I, the perpetrator, was in perfect proximity to the treasure, with the only potential witness being kept at bay by the tell-tale whirring of the vacuum cleaner.

It was the fastest I’ve ever gobbled a Caramello Koala.

Seeing as though I’m still telling this tale 20 years after the incident, I am not sure if the sense of remorse fitted the crime.
However, that brings me to my most recent tale of food theft, for which I feel no very little guilt, whatsoever. I. Love. Rum Balls (of course I do). What’s not to like? It’s all chocolate, and rum, and condensed milk, and coconut, nomma-nomma-nomma. So, I was at work today when the computer clock struck 11 and a wave of tiredness set in. It’s that awkward time when, yes, you have managed to get through a significant portion of the morning, yet there is somehow still a RIDICULOUS amount of time to kill before lunch.
Feeling sick (of my desk) I strolled upstairs to carry out the urgent task of washing my teacup, when, low and behold, I swung open the communal fridge door only to be greeted with a sumptuous looking platter of snowy-capped rum balls. I am usually loyal to the idea of consuming my beloved rum balls only at Christmastime, but presented with such a breathtaking display, what was a girl to do?

I noted that this platter of rum balls had probably already served its intended purpose because half the items were missing. Clearly, the creator was now offering the remainder of the batch to all and sundry. The trouble is, my pride got in the way and I didn’t want to be "that girl". The one who is meant to be sitting at her desk but instead can be found shuffling from the kitchen with a fistful of rumballs and sprinkling coconut down the halls. Being a pro-active problem solver (that’s what my CV says, may as well put it to use) my penchant for food theft set in and without missing a beat I did a quick scan out the kitchen door for potential witnesses, and deftly transferred not one, but two, delicious rum balls straight into the secure confines of my freshly cleaned teacup. Then straight back to the desk with my fresh cup of “tea”.
I am expecting a call from the scriptwriters of CSI any minute.

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