I am halfway through my first-ever Cadbury cream-filled egg. Make that three-quarters. Hold on a sec.

Gone.

Several weeks ago, more than a month before Easter, I bought one Cadbury cream-filled egg at the Stewart’s on North Broadway, where I filled up the tank using my Price Chopper Advantage points to save maybe 50 cents a gallon off of what I thought then was a ridiculous amount for gas but what seems today like a bargain.

Anyway, I snagged the egg at the checkout, remembering that once upon a time my husband casually mentioned that he liked them and remembering that when I wait for the day before Easter to buy Easter candy, the shop cupboards are bare. I didn’t want to take that chance.

Then, during the week before Easter, I heard the new WGY morning gang drooling in Cadbury anticipation and coincidentally needed once again to deposit my paycheck into my gas tank. So at the checkout I bought a second egg and stashed it away, to find out for myself what all the cream-filled fuss is about.

I had to eat the egg tonight, which is the end of Easter Day -- not for religious reasons, since I am Jewish and Cadbury eggs have, I am confident, nothing to do with the real Easter story, but because Skidmore College’s Dr. Paul Arciero, who is conducting an exercise and nutrition study in which I am a participant, gave the group his blessing to stray – but only on Easter.

Actually, I started Easter morning with a cup of cottage cheese and a fabulous cannoli from the wonderful new Rainy Days Cafe and Bakery in my husband's hometown of Mt. Morris, N.Y., so the diet was pretty well shot by 10 a.m. I’ve been meaning to write all about Dr. Arciero's 16-week study since it started 12 weeks ago, and I will write about it (as I vow to redouble the nutrition efforts, effective immediatey), but not today. Today is about Cadbury cream-filled eggs.

Now that I’ve indulged, I can say with assurance that the best thing about a Cadbury cream-filled egg is that the ingredients and information about nutrition, if there is any, are printed in type too small for the naked eye, or even the eye adorned with lineless trifocals, like mine. Plus, the printed information is folded and crinkled around the egg-shaped egg, ensuring its illegibility. And it is impossible to gently peel the world’s thinnest foil that is the egg’s wrapper without it shredding in your fingers, eliminating whatever miniscule chance you had of reading it.

It’s probably all for the best. Next time, I’ll stick with the cannoli. Um, I mean the cottage cheese.