I do not think that means what you think it means

I'm making chili. The Brawn is browsing through the bin of spices when something he sees makes his eyes light up.

"Oh!" he says. "That's where the sprinkles are."

"Well," I respond. "That's where they are now. That's not where they're going to be in a little bit." 

"Why?" 

I look at him over the top of my glasses.  

"No," he says frankly. "I used to eat them, but I don't do that anymore. I used to eat the sprinkles...and the sugar...and the marshmallows, but I've changed." 

I am at least a bit skeptical, but I can't help but smile at what's either impressive self-awareness and honesty or at least thoroughly convinced self-delusion and guilelessness.

But he's not quite done. "And not to throw The Golden Weasel under the bus, but she used to do it too."