So we’re standing around after church, and I see that my 10-year-old daughter has candy. “Oh, did your teacher give you candy?”
“Yes, Mrs. X gives us candy for saying our memory verses.”
“She gave you Warheads?”
“HER kids like them.”
“Yes, but she’s got three boys.”
La Principessa shrugs and puts one in her mouth. I say, “Sweetie, you know you don’t like those…” She shrugs again, mumbling, “It’s candy…”
I watch her dear little face squinch up horribly, as she struggles desperately to hold her mouth shut. I grab a nearby plastic-lined Sunday School wastebasket. “Spit it out, sweetie,” I implore her. Stubbornly she shakes her head. She is determined to eat this piece of so-called candy. Helplessly, a river of drool begins to flow out of her closed mouth and down her trembling chin. Again I offer the wastebasket. This time she takes me up on it, spits it out, with an expression of vast relief.
So at lunch we’re sitting here discussing it, and Bonzo, Middle Child, Only Son, who is all of 13, says with a lordly air, “Pooh, one Warhead, that’s nothing.”
I say, “What’s the most Warheads you ever had in your mouth at one time?”
He says, “Six.”
I inquire, in horrified fascination, “What was it like?”
He relates with grim relish, “Well, your whole face is like this << >> and you’re trying to keep your mouth shut, like this << >> and it’s like these G-forces are building up inside your mouth, and then you get to the really sweet part, and it’s really gross, because it’s SOOO sweet, and it’s like really slimy, and usually a couple of them just go right down your throat.”
And all I could say was, "Why?"
I think I had a Warhead in my mouth one time, for about 3 seconds. That was enough for me.
All I can say is, “Why?”
