Prepare yourself, Dear Reader, for I'm about to tell you a heartbreakingly sad story about candy. Get the tissues ready.
I was talking to my friend June yesterday and, as is the norm with me, our conversation turned to candy and nostalgia, but I was completely unprepared for her tale of woe. Here's the beast she unleashed:
She was little, maybe 10 years old, and she got her first "job" to shovel the walk. The house was on a corner, so there was a lot of sidewalk to shovel. When she finally finished, she was given $10.
"I went right to the store and bought $10 worth of candy," she said.
"What kind of candy?" I asked, licking my chops.
"All kinds of candy. Everything. Pixy Stix. Dubble Bubble. Lots of chocolate." She said she was so happy, so excited to have so much candy. And then ... and then ...
Word of her purchase got to her mother. "She made me return all of it," said June. "Not only was I sad that I didn't have any candy, but I was mortified that she made me go back to the store and return it all."
June didn't have the chance to even sneak one Bit o' Honey or caramel bullseye. Clearly the incident has scarred her forever. And who could blame her? I'm devastated and it didn't even happen to me. What a sad day, indeed.
But so I don't completely depress you, here's another tale of snow shoveling and candy. We had had a big storm and my brother and his friends went out, shovels in hand, with the hopes of making a few bucks. He came back a few hours later with a huge box in his hands. "Look what Mrs. Kissel gave me," he said. It was a giant-- I mean GIANT, probably about five pounds--Oh Henry! Oh, how I coveted that candy bar and I couldn't wait until I was old enough to shovel so that I could get one of those babies for myself. Alas, it wasn't to be and I've never seen one of those mega bars ever again.