Getting a reward for "trying" if they, in actuality, did not is not going to end well. Even if it takes a long time to brew, the blast will come out eventually.
Forgive me, for I am about to rant and it's embarrassing and personal. Not outing though because no one else know but me and DH.
Mine kept buying me a box of chocolates for every occasion. I don't really like chocolate. I would say thanks in a lack lustre manner, hoping he'd take the hint. I told him outright on many occasions away from the gift giving moment how I don't really like chocolate but he always seemed to "forget". Nothing ever changed. He'd just end up eating most of them.
It came to a head on Christmas lunchtime. At midnight, he had presented me a large box of chocolates.
"They're Thornton's", he exclaimed with a slight nod to the box and a flourish, looking pleased with himself for upping me from a box Dairy Box or Milk Tray. He appeared to be expecting a gushing round of applause. We have a lot more spare cash than last year, you see so he could justify the extremely extra four pounds. He'd wanged it in the trolley because they were on special offer at a tenner, down from fifteen, I presume). My face went dead. I keep myself contained and my voice even as I simmered underneath before going to bed. My rage grew as the time crept towards morning. He slept peacefully. I did not. "Just be grateful. Be polite. Don't be grabby", I told myself all night and through breakfast. I waited to see if anything else more suitable was going to appear. Maybe something more suitable for a FUCKING RECENTLY DIAGNOSED FUCKING DIABETIC WITH TOTALLY UNCONTROLLED BLOOD GLUCOSE LEVELS. Maybe something like the £300 worth of new clothes I'd got him. But no, the only thing he got me was the Ta-Da drum roll please....Thornton's. A lovely big box of SUGAR for a diabetic who is still awaiting the second blood test before the GP will provide anything to aid in the control of bmy insanely high blood sugar levels. It got to 1pm. Three hours of, "what's the matter. I know somethings the matter". Ooh...ooh...I forgot. There was another "gift". I forgot that for a moment there. He put thirty pounds in a Christmas card on top of the chocolate box. I'm HOUSEBOUND with the serious heart condition, the drugs for which triggered the diabetes. So, the £30 went straight back in his wallet because I can't go out to fucking spend.
I cracked at the point he expected me to start yummng on the choccies.
I put one in my mouth and started to chew it and the sugar just blasted me and I spat it out and burst out crying. What the fuck was I doing, risking hospitalisation to make him feel less of an evil cunt.
The fight that ensued had to be seen to be believed. I remember there was a lot of "you bought an unmedicated DIABETIC a box containing half a pound of FUCKING SUGAR"!?!
The rotten cunt had watched me taking my blood glucose and cutting out all sugar from my diet that I could for three months at that point.
He ended up with all the chocolates, apart from the one I spat out, in the end. I'm not sure he enjoyed receiving them much though, considering he received them all in one go as I launched the open box smack in the middle of his face. He wasn't too keen on picking them up of the floor to eat them, rather strangely.
Tackle it. Don't let it fester. Despite the momentary feeling of deep satisfaction as that full box of chocolate smacked DH square in the centre of his mush, I have to say I'd rather not have had the experience at all. Let them know or it will never charge.