Last night, being Halloween and all, was a big ol’ Candy Buffet. Fun Size candy bars out the wazoo. With the candy Uncle Skippy brought and what the boys collected, we had a net gain of empty callories. Sort of a warm-up stretch for the tummy with The Holidays coming up.
I learned a few things. More “rediscovered facts” than learned. There is a finite number of Fun Size candy I can eat in two hours. As I get older (I now make a noise when I get out of the comfortable chair) that number seemd to be going down. To look at me, you’d think it would at least stay the same. There ain’t any less of me than there was, that’s for sure.
Also, the mix of apple cider and Fun Size candy is iffy at best. Mixing Fun Size candy and hard cider is a less good idea. (Just a tip from me to you. Your welcome.)
You’d think last night would sort of do me for candy. At least for a little while. You’d think, that wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you?
It’s 7 A.M. and the non-saved daylight is just breaking over the horizon. All is quiet in the Casa del DeDay. The boys and the dogs are still asleep, and The Little Woman is off to her toil. Here I sit, all alone.
What’s that I here? The crinkle of celophane? A slight whisper? [sub]“eat me”[/sub] Maybe it’s the furnace. But it’s warm still, the furnace shouldn’t be coming on. “Eat me.” Are the dogs stirring? Maybe it’s the trash truck down the street. (Today is trash day.) “EAT ME!” This is creepy. Something’s going on. "EAT ME!"
Gods’ blood on fire! It’s the candy! Must be strong. Must not listen.
In my younger days it wouldn’t have been a problem. Candy can’t talk to you once you’ve already eaten it. (“Kit Kat for breakfast? Sure! Just let me finish these Pixie Stix!”) Then you get a little older and you find out it can. (Mostly “Ha ha, you fool. You knew you shouldn’t have eaten me. Now you pay!” Followed by evil laughter.) A little older still and you get a pre-emptive strike from your body. (“Don’t even think about it, Bub.” Not from your head, but from your abused tummy.)
Maybe I should think about looking into pondering “I really don’t like you rotten kids” treats like toothbrushes or pencils. Pencils don’t talk to nobody.
Who am I kidding? Fun Size Milk Duds for me and all my friends! (If you don’t like Milk Duds I can hook you up with Kit Kats or Almond Joys. Give me a minute and I can grill you up a hot dog.)
-Rue. (who had some tea and a toasted bagel and let the candy murmur amongst themselves)