How's this for a mystery of the universe.
No matter how slowly I think I am eating them, I invariably come to the last Junior Mint. I noticed this for the first time in the darkened theater in my hometown where I bought my first box of the addicting little morsels.
I would sit down with my Junior Mints, determined that I would make them last until at least the middle of the movie. Sometimes I would even close up the box between each mint. I felt so virtuous in my gargantuan self-conrol. Especially since, from some place in my medulla oblongata, there was a message flashing in neon green saying:
OPEN BOX. OPEN MOUTH. POUR ALL MINTS INTO MOUTH. CHEW. SWALLOW. DO IT NOW !
But no matter how slowly I ate them, by the time Doris Day had finally decided she really DID love James Garner, but had completely alienated him, and needed to convince him she had been an idiot, the Junior Mint box would have run dry. So I had to watch the agonizing remainder of the movie mintless.
It's still the same today. My mints never last as long as I want them to. I guess some natural laws remain constant.