A few months ago I foolishly downloaded Candy Crush onto my iPhone. With a visual dominated by bright colours and shapes that would appeal to a preschooler, Candy Crush is a game in which you "mix and match sweets in a combination of three or more, to gain points and other bonuses as you progress!"
The basic instructions are: "Touch a candy and swipe it with your finger. Match 3 candies of the same colo[u]r to crush them." When you make really good matches, sweets explode before your eyes and you are rewarded by words such as "Sweet!", "Tasty!", "Divine!" and "Sugar Crush!" appearing on the screen. I soon discovered that Candy Crush a) isn't easy, b) limits duration of "no fee" access and c) allows you to buy extra tools to help you through the levels.
No doubt exactly as the game's creators anticipated, that particular combination of attributes just fuelled my fever for Candy Crush. I was surprised the first time I ran out of lives and was told I had to wait a certain number of minutes before I could resume playing. But I wasn't about to let some inanimate object determine how I spent my leisure time. How old did this game think I was? Twelve? So I purchased more lives. It was a no brainer. I did it again and again.
Then, when I didn't make it through a level, I would purchase extra moves. From memory five extra moves "to help you finish the last remaining candies in this game!" cost just $1.29. It was a bargain. I lost track of how many times I bought this option. Similarly, I purchased untold boosters such as Colo[u]r Bombs (you get three for $1.29) and Jelly Fish (three for $2.59) to help me get through the levels without needing skill.
In hindsight, this rampant consumerism was a mistake on two counts. Firstly, I got a huge shock when I saw the amount it all totalled on my next credit card bill. No wonder the store itself had started blocking off my purchases - probably in order to save me from myself. Those small amounts sure add up.
